Friday 13 July 2012


I’m not sure why there are not more 2 year olds running companies. Hear me out on this, as I think I'm onto something. They are demonstrative – okay, the vocabulary may be a bit limited, but let me tell you they get their point across; they instill fear (oh do they instill fear) in whomever crosses their path; they know what they want and more importantly what they don't want; and their world consists of myopic goals which are always achieved (like it or not). That’s the making of a good despot that gets sh*t DONE, as far as I’m concerned. Okay fine, they still need their nappy changed and dribble on themselves, but I’m sure they could hire a team of people to clean up after them. Wait, that’s my job…never mind.

Yes, the King is fast approaching two and suddenly over night (and I mean overnight), our world has shifted into a whole new dominion of ‘this is what I want and if I don’t get it, there will be hell to pay.’ Clearly his rule on the kingdom was not expansive enough before this fabulous stage. At the moment, the King turning two means a tantrum every five feet and heavy negotiation on our parental part, which if not done right, leads to yet another tantrum (it’s a super fun cycle). It’s a fine balancing act to avoid the landmines I can assure you, and at the moment, we find ourselves trying to avoid them at all costs - "oh just give him the knife if he wants to play with it, if it means he'll be agreeable for four minutes!!" (I kid, I kid; we don't give in that easily)

....for those of you thinking I’m a completely jaded cow, peppered in with these tantrums are of course adorable moments and lots of new words and skills. But that’s par for the course and why we don’t sell our children.

In the case of the King these super fun tantrums start very early…far too early. At the moment he is waking up in the morning with a forty-five minute screamathon. It’s hard to describe really outside of the fact that it crawls into your nervous system and grabs a hold with both hands and doesn’t let go until you’re contemplating pouring whisky into your morning coffee. We’re not sure what inspires this, but it’s something to do with the fact that he’s neither completely asleep nor awake and this limbo situation pisses him off. So for the moment, instead of an alarm clock, the entire building gets to sit back and listen to the dulcet tones of the King trying to kick his cot in from the inside out. He’s definitely my father’s grandson, that kid has one set of hefty lungs.

Once we peel him off the ceiling and convince him that maybe breakfast is a wiser choice to start off the day, it is then like a game of ‘find the landmine’ depending on what task you set out to do. ‘Would you like toast?’ Response: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Okay then. ‘Will you please sit in your chair?’ R: Noooooooooooo, aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!....Do you want to wear the blue shoes or the red shoes (apparently it's all about choices; yeah, whatever)? R: ‘Sttttttoooooooooooooppppppp, nooooooooo shoooooeeeeeeees!’ All righty then. 'Anyone want a triple vodka and a chocolate bath?' He even gives me a no to that question, just to be contrary.

The problem is, until you realize that every 2 year old is bi-polar, you’re not going to get very far. The King can go from laughing and kissing me in one step, to hurling his truck at me in a rage-fueled rebellion - apparently this is frustration with his inability to fully communicate. Either that, or our sh*tty summer weather is getting to him too. Of course no one believes me except my husband - as the King is usually such a happy child, because two year olds are very clever. They wait until it’s just you and THEM and they unleash the really good stuff. Then again, the King is also realizing that to unleash his power in public places is highly amusing (for him, not me).. I of course have taken to wearing my iPod – judge me, I can take it – around the house and when we’re outside as I find Coldplay a lot more soothing to listen to than the King screaming his lungs out because I refuse to give him more raisins.

So at the moment, within our, ahem, his Kingdom, a battle of wills is playing out. He digs his feet in in his corner and wields his best autonomous two year old stare that says, challenge me, I dare you; and I try my best to pick my battles and not turn into a total alcoholic. Parenthood: it’s such a fluffy bunny.

Happy Friday all. 

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