My blog started out as a fashion/parenting blog of unsolicited opinions.
Then, I got distracted by just complaining about how difficult and needy was my youngest son.
For the last year, or so, all I do is talk about my older kid.
And not one of you has requested updates on my younger, needy little tyke.
How dare you.
But so I don’t seem like my entire world is consumed by my older kiddo, let me report to you: my youngest is the bee’s knees, the cutest, the cuddliest, the most sickeningly adorablest, smiling-est, most wonderful little kiddo in the world.
I’ve never been the type to state, “I could just eat him up.”
But truly: I wish I could devour this little guy.
I love both my children equally. (Yeah, right, you’re snidely thinking….and justifiably.)
But my little one gets extra points for sheer cuteness.
He sits in our laps to read books, climbs in bed and snuggles in the morning, has an impish grin that melts hearts the world round.
Years ago, my French mother said, “He is such a flirt, such a seducer. He just charms everyone around him. Like Bill Clinton.”
Mm-k. Two things:
- He was charming with everyone BUT ME during that chapter. With me? Nothing but #tearlesscrying.
- It really is a compliment from a French person to compare a 2 year-old’s charm to Bill Clinton. I know. Go figure.
Two and a half years ago, when he was an intolerably needy monster, I probably doomed him to lifelong therapy since I was so clearly frustrated by his #tearlesscrying. He grew to repress his tears.
Definitely my fault.
Was I a monster? I’d say only partially. Even close friends of mine with children could attest, “Yeah. He’s tough. Real tough.”
But now when he’s upset he runs and hides in the bathroom where he delivers a sniffling diatribe/soliloquy recounting his frustrations to the bathroom spirits. Yep, just a muffled, whiny monologue that goes something like, “And then Daddy said I can’t have another fruit snack and then he only gave me a carrot and he got mad at me when I got mad because I just don’t want a carrot…” etc etc.
And he stays in the bathroom to have his moment. I can usually cajole him out, easily, and smother him with hugs and an explanation that no, he may not have two fruit snack packs in a row twenty minutes before dinner.
But people: as cute as his bad times are, his good times are adorable-er.
And his challenges clearly don’t require me to go venting my insecurities to the entire intrawebs like when I first started this blog (at the height of his monstrous behavior.
(Don’t challenge me on that, little buddy…please?)
But this all reminds me how so many friends said to me 18 months ago – It WILL get better.
But they probably could’ve added: But not soon.
Yeah, that took awhile. And it was absolute hell while I was in the middle of it.
But now? It’s a distant memory…
…to which I never, ever want to return.