Two

I am glad I am not two.

Two is a challenging age not only for the parents of the two-year-old, but also for the child.

As frustrated as I am with our beloved Wee One lately, I also often feel bad for him.

This can't be fun for him either.

Cute, but conflicted.

Conversations with the Wee One:

"What you want to eat, baby one?"
"Yo-git!"
Pause while yogurt is obtained.
"Here you go Bud."
"No!"
Yogurt is shoved away violently. Hysterical crying ensues.
"What is the matter, Bud? What do you want to eat?"
"Yoooo-giiiiiit!"
Hysterical crying continues.

***

Ear piercing screech. 

I jog into the living room. 

"What is the matter, Bud?"

"Waaaaaah!"

I frisk him - looking for injury. 

"What is it? You gotta tell me, Bud. I can't help unless you tell me."

"I dwop it! I dwop da cah! Waaaaaah!"

Sigh. 

"You dropped your car? This car right here by your feet?"

"Yeeeaaaahhhh! Waaaaaah!"

"Umm. Okay. Did you want to pick it up?"

"Yeah." Hysterics over. 

***

We are sitting together, coloring with crayons. 

"Make a twuck!" he says, and hands me a yellow crayon. 

As I attempt to take the yellow crayon from his outstretched hand he yanks it away and says,

"NO! I usin' dis one!"

Pause. 

"Make a twuck!" he tries again, and again attempts to hand me a crayon. 

Again I reach for it. 

Again, "NO! I usin' dis one!"

I look at him.

He looks at me. 

We both look at the crayon. 

We repeat the cycle until he's ready to relinquish a crayon.