And, you know, it is pretty much as you'd expect with the tantrums and the "I won't!"s and the falling to the ground in rageful despair whenever I try to keep her from playing in the knife drawer.
Watching my daughter in all her wondrous expressiveness has made me think that I might be just a little emotionally repressed. I mean, my days are FILLED with a host of frustrations that my two-year-old couldn't even begin to imagine. Unfortunately, though, I've been socialized to such I degree that I no longer feel comfortable kicking those who offend me on their shins. Instead I am forced to express my rage through the occasional well-phrased passive-agressive note.
It's enough to make me wonder what life would be life if I were to take a cue from my two-year-old.
It might look something like this:
MONDAY: The week is off to a rough start as a fellow Mom at school pick-up edges me out for a parking space. Instead of plastering fake smile on my face and searching for another spot I exit my vehicle. Gesturing towards the space I begin shouting in a high-pitched voice,
"MINE!!!!! MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE!!!!!!!!!!"
My fellow Mommy tries to argue that she saw the space first but her words fall on deaf ears. Literally. Because I have shoved both fingers in my ears and I am shrieking loudly enough to drown out her words. If she does no relent I drop to the ground and begin rolling around to show her how committed I am to my cause.
TUESDAY: At the grocery store I reach the checkout stand only to be told that my groceries will cost me close to two hundred dollars. This seems like an awful lot of money and I am upset. So, when the clerk asks for payment I shut my eyes tightly and repeat,
"NOOOOOO! I DON'T WANT TO!!!!!!!"
three hundred times at increasing volume.
When the people behind me in line begin to complain about the delay, I arch my back dramatically, shake my head angrily and swat at them furiously with both hands.
WEDNESDAY: My husband comes home from work and asks what's for dinner. I open the refrigerator and begin throwing whatever contents I find towards his head. If he persists in his request, there is biting.
THURSDAY: The kids are running wild. Their roughhousing culminates in them breaking the handle off the over. I consider calmly giving each of them a time out before gently explaining the error the of their ways, but instead I grab a blanket, pull it over my head and lie down in the middle of the living room with emitting a high-pitched wail. I refuse to emerge until my husband returns from work.
FRIDAY: I finish up the week with a night out with the girls! Conversation is flowing but the service is a bit on the slow side, so I take the situation in hand. I begin by banging my face into the table repeatedly while shrieking,
"HUNGRY! HUUUUUUNGGGGRRRRRY!"
This lights a fire under the service staff and our meal appears without further delay. I take a few bites of my meal before announcing loudly,
"EYE DON'T YIKE IT!"
Then I throw the remainder of my meal onto the floor and commence pulling out tufts of my own hair.
Sure, I might not make a lot of new friends during my week as a two-year-old, but I do have a strong suspicion that I'd sleep better at night - freed from the desire to rerun in my head all the frustrations of the day.
Maybe for all of us there is some happy medium to be found in which we all mange to summon just enough of the terrible twos. Perhaps if we all confront a few more of the situations throughout the day and find a few more opportunities to express our true feeling, we'd all be a little more relaxed -- just remember full-blown tantrums aren't that cute when you pass toddlerhood.
