The Terrific Twos

When Little Man turned two a few weeks ago, we heard it from everyone: "Oh, here come the terrible twos!"

I ignored everyone who said it. One, I think the threes are way more difficult--not old enough to be a big kid but too old to be a baby can be very frustrating for little people. Two, if you think it's going to be bad, it's going to be bad. Expectation is everything.

And I expect that this year is going to be terrific. Do think it's going to be perfect? Of course not. No one is perfect, including my little angel of a boy. He's certainly not perfect when he starts throwing a fit in the hallway because he wants me to carry him but my arms are full of groceries. Or when we have to pick up toys, and instead he throws all his toys on the ground (followed by himself). And it's easy for me to get aggravated and frustrated in those situations. When I do, I remind myself that I'm the grown up.

And because I am the grown up, I can figure out what the trigger to those "terrible" situations are. Little Man doesn't fuss just for the sake of fussing. Sure, sometimes he's angry, but there's often more to it than that. Perhaps he's hungry, or tired, or overwhelmed. As he discovers the excitement of the world, he's going to push his own limits. And occasionally he's going to push himself right off a proverbial cliff, and all he can do to communicate that to me is fuss. And it's my job to be prepared for those moments--and to head them off when I can.

Of course, sometimes he's just mad.

Parenting, I think, should be like being a doctor or a lawyer in that it is a practice. Every day with a two year old is different, and the method that worked yesterday to soothe frustration may not work today.

Every day is terrific. Some just more so than others.

The Last of the Baby Steps

This morning, Husband and I were chatting in our bedroom before we got the baby out of his crib. I could hear Little Man on the monitor, rolling around and talking to himself like he does most mornings. I closed my eyes for another few minutes of sleep.

And then Little Man opened the door and came into our room.

Apparently he wasn't rolling around his crib this morning--he was climbing out. He came right to our bedroom and into his Daddy's arms, looking quite pleased with himself.

"Did you climb out of your crib?" I asked him. He smiled.

"Yeah, yeah," he said in his funny little way.

"Do you have any boo-boos?" Husband asked him. Little Man looked at his arms and felt his head.

"Uh-uh," he said, shaking his head. He snuggled in between us on the bed.

And so marks the last day of the crib. Tonight, Little Man will sleep in a big boy bed and hopefully not decide to take a tour of the house at 3 AM.

Transitioning out of his crib is that last of the "baby steps". All the milestones from here on out are big boy: potty training, tying his shoes, writing his letters. And while he'll always be my baby, to the world he's a big boy.

And I couldn't be more proud.