Welcome to Two

As Molly's second birthday approached, numerous parents told me how surprisingly easy the twos were. It's a myth! they said. It's three you have to worry about! And right around when she turned two (a month and three days ago), they were right. She was absolutely delightful in December. Fun and inquisitive and shockingly smart.

Then, just a week after her birthday, January hit. Everyone in the family took turns being sick and, just as we all got well again, Molly chose to embody the definition of the Terrible Twos.

Molly has always been a strong-willed, stubborn child. David and I are both stubborn in our own ways, so this was not terribly surprising. Mostly she didn't like being told no and would often protest, loudly, if she wasn't given what she wanted. (Surprisingly, being that she's such a little thing, the vast majority of these protests revolved around food.) But we could almost always redirect her or distract her. And these tantrums only happened about every other week, so it didn't seem like an especially big deal. She's just testing her limits, we reassured ourselves.

In the past couple of weeks, though, these tantrums have become a daily occurrence. And there is no more bargaining, negotiating, or redirecting. She wants what she wants, when she wants it, and she will scream and cry for - I kid you not - thirty minutes if her demands are not met. (Luckily she hasn't started taking hostages yet.)

Tuesday morning, for instance, she woke up and, as soon as we walked into the kitchen, she demanded a cookie. We had made cookies the previous week and, though she had only had maybe two since then, she knew that there were cookies in the cookie jar and insisted on having one. This had happened a few times over the weekend, so she knew that there was little to no chance that she was getting one, especially at seven o'clock in the morning. So I said no and offered her some more traditional breakfast fare. Molly decided to throw down the gauntlet and commenced with the screaming and crying protests.

The thing with Molly's tantrums, though, is that it starts as one issue but quickly escalates into others. She doesn't get a cookie, so she demands to go outside, but refuses to put on shoes to do so. Then when she can't go outside she wants to jump on the bed. Or play with knives. You know, the usual. So there is no easy answer because she so quickly moves on to something else to be mad about. And it's impossible to make her do something. She wiggles and squirms and only gets madder.

Tuesday morning was awful. The worst yet. I eventually got her settled on some banana bread (which she has been loving lately), got her dressed and into the car. Not five minutes down the road, though, she decided that she wanted cheese crackers instead. (Also not a breakfast food.) Of course there were no cheese crackers in the car even if I did want her to eat them for breakfast, so she began to scream and cry. Then she threw her banana bread in protest. (Throwing things - not at people, just away from herself - is another one of her tricks.) Then she was mad because she wanted cheese crackers and her banana bread, which had disappeared into thin air and was nowhere to be found, especially not while I was driving.

That was the longest car ride of her life (maybe mine). It was awful and I was nearly in tears when I dropped her off at daycare.

The problem with these tantrums is that, though I can handle them individually, the increased volume of them has begun to wear me down.

Which is why this morning, when she got upset because I wouldn't open a box of taco shells (not kidding here) for breakfast, I immediately felt dejected. This would be another Tuesday and just the thought of that had me stressed in anticipation. Her anger over the tacos turned into demands to go outside, which intensified when I tried to get her dressed only to have her pull her shirt back on.

So I sat there, right beside her on the couch, as she reached her little hand towards the backyard. I didn't say anything or touch her (since she had been swatting my hands away). Slowly, very slowly, but surely her crying slowed down and, though still whimpering, she became calm(er).

Potter hadn't had his breakfast yet, so I asked if she'd like to get it for him. (She loves being a helper and being given tasks. It's usually an excellent distraction, but not one she'll give into in the midst of her meltdowns.) She hesitantly agreed, only to smile hugely when I handed her the cup full of dog food. She poured it into Potter's bowl and asked to get him some water. I let her fill up the cup, walk it to his bowl, and pour it in. She, the girl who was auditioning for The Exorcist two minutes prior, beamed with pride.

We settled on some cereal for breakfast and I fixed her hair while she ate. She told me a story about horses and I obligingly neighed for her.

:::

Because of the unpredicatableness of Molly's tantrums, David and I have had a hard time discovering what is the best course of action. Being equally stubborn, I tend to be as adamant that she can't have something as she is that she must have it. And while withholding it is generally a sound decision, I sometimes worry that I'm doing so out of "principle" rather than because it is the best thing for this situation.

I worry that giving in to her demands sets a problematic precedence. And I worry that not giving into her demands causes equal unknown damage.

This morning I stopped worrying about that. I just let her work it out herself. It took a long time, probably ten minutes altogether. And I often feel like I shouldn't let her do that because people with "real" jobs wouldn't have that luxury and, what if she did this when we needed to go somewhere? But the reality is that, though it's inconvenient for it to take an hour for us to get out of the house in the morning, I have the kind of flexibility in my job that makes that possible. And clearly, at least for right now, that's what works for Molly. It allows me not to give in to her every demand without having to force her to get over whatever she's feeling.

I don't know if that's the right thing. I'm sure it won't always work. And I think that's the hardest part of parenting, not knowing the long-term effects of your actions.

But I do know that Molly was in a wonderful mood when I dropped her off at daycare, giving me tight squeezes and rubbing noses and proclaiming her love for me. And right now, that happiness is worth the ten minutes when I have it to give.

But please let the people who said three was worse be wrong.