Two is somehow my most and least favorite. It’s a stage that comes with so much fun and new found independence, but also with a formidable dose of tantrums and tears. There’s not a button that goes unpushed by my two-year-old on a daily basis, and if anyone is needing a theatrics coach, he’s your guy. This is my third time through the “terrible twos” and you would think I’d have a little bit of a handle on it by now. It turns out that toddlerhood smacks you in the face even when you think you’re prepared. 

Every day with a two-year-old is opposite day. If I say no, he says yes. If I bring him the blue cup, he wants the green one. If I ask him to quiet down, he yells at the top of his lungs. If he says he’s hungry and I offer a snack, it’s the wrong snack. When it’s cold and cloudy, he insists on shorts and a “tank tock.” Basically, if it isn’t his idea, then it’s not a good one. 

I know that my job as a mother is to teach my sons to be self-sufficient. But while I’m so busy teaching him to dress himself, get his own shoes, put his toys away, I also wish I could keep him as my baby forever. Every time I look at him, I can picture him as a newborn in the hospital, all swaddled and snuggly in his blanket. His little chubby baby face is thinning out. He’s becoming more and more of his own little person. For every inch he grows, his vocabulary expands by 1,000 words. But no matter how big he gets, how smart, or how strong, he will always be my baby.

The days can be long and the tears can be endless, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. This stage, while exhausting, is the most fun. So here’s to two: the curiosity, the exploration, the singing and dancing, the kisses, the “I lub yew”s, the giggling, the imagination, the big things and the little things. Here’s to all the terrible in two, and more importantly, all the terrific.