I Think My Two-Year-Old Is Out To Get Me

When I meet people and they ask, “How are you?” I don’t say, “Terrific, how about you?”

I say, “Exhausted.”

I think my two-year-old is out to get me.

I have a two-year-old who on some days will only communicate this noise: “Eh, eh, eh, ehhhh!” while on other days will clearly articulate, “You guys are making me so mad.”  Then my husband and I have to cheer and praise this statement because she used such good words.

She likes to get in my business.  For example, she has this little art table which she has covered with stickers.  That’s not the end of the world, I know.  But sometimes I take a look at that corner of the room and think I would like that table and that window to be clear of stickers so I get some spray cleaner and a razor blade and start scraping.

And then…she wants to play.  Right. Where. I. Am. Doing. My. Project.

And she wants to put her hands right where my hand are, of course, since I’m using a razor blade.

So I’ll ditch that project and let her re-sticker the window.  I’ll go sweep the kitchen floor.  I’ll get a nice pile of dirt and turn to reach for the dust pan.  As soon as I turn around I find my two-year-old sitting on top of the pile, patting the dirt as if she’s splashing in a puddle.

She likes to get in my business, that’s for sure.  I mean, really in my business.  I’ll be in the bathroom.  I’ll hear a knock, “Mama, what you doing?” 

“I’m going potty.”

“Oh!  I help you!  I wipe you.”

“That’s okay.  I got this.”  But she'll decide to wait for me and lay on the floor and talk to me through the gap between the floor and the bottom of the bathroom door.  She'll offer a running commentary on what she thinks I'm doing in the bathroom based on the noises she hears.  Lovely.

My son got a jigsaw puzzle.  With his Papa’s and his sister’s “help”, they put it together.  When it was finished there was one piece missing.  Okay, this has two-year-old written all over it.

“Did you take this piece?” we ask.

“Yes.”

“Where did you put it?” we ask.

“I do not know.” And then she toddlers off probably to write on a wall with a marker somewhere.  We searched high and low for that piece.  Later, I sat on the couch and felt something; she had wedged her snack bowl between two cushions.  Ah ha!  My toddler is an in-the-couch-putter.  I pull out all the cushions and find:  three barrettes, two ponytail holders, a card for one game, two cards for another game, a playing piece for a third game, Tinkerbell lip gloss, a doll, a little swan, a glow-in-the-dark bracelet, a spider ring, 9 Nerf darts, a Smurf, and NO puzzle piece.

My two-year-old is out to get me.

My two-year-old likes to say, “I do it myself” when really she means, “I spill it myself.”

I say to my two-year-old, “Guess who I love?”

“Poo?”

“No, I don’t love poo.  I love you…oh…nevermind…”

I'll say, "Guess who loves you?

"Poo poo Mama?"

Oh, that's hysterical.

My two-year-old likes to say, “I help you Mama?” which of course is toddler speak for “I make it more messy for you Mama."

She wants to help me.  She wants to sweep, mop, vacuum, clean the windows... 

I want to do those things.  Those are very satisfying chores (and honestly, I do them better than a two-year-old).  Why doesn’t she want to change the sheets on the bunk beds?  That kills my back.

My two-year-old wants to play with me.  I love to play with her.

She says, “You be the Mama.  I be the crying baby.  You go to work.  I cry.  Okay?”

 Oh, sure, let’s take a break from reality and play that for pretend. 

She says, “I be the Mama frog.  You be the baby frog.”

“Okay,” and I proceed to say “Mama, Mama!” which is how I’ve been directed to play every I-be-the-mama/you-be-the-baby game we’ve ever played.

“NO!  You hop.”  Okay, whatever.  I hop.

“NO!  You hop like a baby frog!!!”  Oh for crying out loud.  I find myself hopping around, baby frog style, asking my two-year-old if I’m doing it right.

She throws herself on the couch, wailing with despair.  I’m not doing it righ.

My two-year-old is out to get me.

I sang “You Are My Sunshine” to her one night.  That’s one of my favorite baby songs but I haven’t sung it for years because I sang it to my son when he was a newborn and burst into tears at the end.  I must have been full of post partum hormones; I just couldn’t get through that song.  But one night, she was having a difficult time settling into bed so I sang this song to her for the first time.  I was fine and she loved it; she asked me to sing it to her six more times before drifting off to sleep.

Two nights later she says, “Mama?  You want to see me sing a beautiful ballerina song?”

“Yes.”  Of course.

She twirled in circles, and tippy toed around the room and sang, verbatim, “You Are My Sunshine.”

Yup.  She’s out to get me.  I thought I was done crying over that song.