I’m going to go out on a limb here and proclaim that I am sorry. I am sorry for taking pity on you and your toddler. Instead, I now envy you.
You may not realize it, but as I have perused through the aisles at Target, I have seen your toddlers throw themselves on the floor over wanting a stick of cheese. I have watched as you plead, beg, and negotiate with your little terrorist whose demands are making you look like a fool. Through all your horror and desperation, I’ve seen you look at me with a glimmer of hope still in your eye, as I pass you by.
Yes, there is hope. You’ve seen my daughter pushing the cart next to me, sipping on a Starbucks drink, and carrying on a conversation about her latest crush at school. Truly, every time I pass by a mother with little ones, I thank my lucky stars every day that my little one grew out of that stage. Thank God, those two years are a distant memory.
What you may not realize, is how my 12-year-old daughter has now suddenly, and out of nowhere, turned back into a toddler. This is not the topic of mommy bloggers, nor is it even spoken among many mom friends. Instead, it is a phenomenon that most just attribute to hormones and we try, tragically, to forget these moments, weeks, months, or even years of pure torment.
This “toddler” living in my house is similar to your two-year old in the supermarket. Except, she has a much stronger grasp on vocabulary, and thinks she is more independent than any three-year-old I know could ever want to be. Her words sting a lot harder than “no!” and she can slam a door like a professional actress.
Still, she merely eats, sleeps, plays, and demands attention through misguided behavior – much like your toddler does.
So I, in all my high and mighty glory, have fallen. My lovely, wonderful, well behaved child who jaunted around the aisles of my favorite stores, has magically turned back into a toddler… with hormones and a cell phone.
Let these next six years go by better than the two I experienced nearly a decade ago. I want my little angel back, and I really, really don’t want the little terrorist to throw fits in Target like her mini versions do. Although, I will take the tantrums if it means I get to spend time with her. That, too, is becoming a fleeting, distant memory that I now hold onto dearly.
So moms of little toddlers, who so desperately want to be in my shoes, please don’t wish your little ones to grow up. Realize, that in about 10 years, you will be where I am now, wishing you could have a two-year-old in your house instead of a hormonal teenager with three heads and no brain.
And you will find me, perusing the aisles of Target, no longer taking pity on you, but instead wishing the only tantrum I was faced with that day was over a silly, inconsequential cheese stick.