The anguish of Two

Two.

The Wee One is 27 months old. Knee deep in his "terrible twos".

And he ain't foolin' around.

This boy is taking two for everything it's worth.

The Big Boy was the easiest two year old. I think he threw perhaps one tantrum.

The Wee One, on the other hand, is a two year old of epic proportions.

Feel lucky, punk?

He screeches and screams. He hits, yells and pushes. He bites. 

He makes impossible requests:

Upon seeing a plane in the sky: Him: "Q pick me up so I can touch dat pwane?"

Me: "Sorry, Bud, but that plane is too high in the sky - I can't reach it."

Screaming hysterics and tantrum. 

Sigh.

Pwease, Mama?

He is also deeply conflicted. 

Testing his burgeoning independence, but simultaneously clingy as all get out. 

When I try to hold is hand, say, in a parking lot, screaming hysterics ensue.

Yet the minute I am busy cooking or otherwise occupied:

Him: "Q pick me up, Mama?"

I have given this poor child more time-outs than I ever dreamed imaginable. 

What makes things even more difficult is that he's a funny little turd. 

I go to get him from time out, putting on my best stern-mama-facade. 

I enter his room and he greets me with:

"Hiiiiiii Maaama! I missed you!"

Focus, Mama, focus.

Me: "Why did you need to go to time-out?"

Him: "I hitted."

Me: "Is it okay to hit?"

Him: "YES!!" then he bursts into hysterical laughter. 

Sigh. 

Two.