I was blessed with a really easy baby. I
call it my payment for a particularly difficult pregnancy, but Michael
was a very laid back baby. Except for nursing difficulties, we were
very lucky. He slept through the night at 5 months. He rarely
fussed. He never wanted a pacifier. He weaned himself off the bottle
at a year. He just never wanted it again. If he was hungry he ate.
If he wanted changing he cried and then stopped when he got a clean
diaper. Otherwise, he was quite content in a swing or a bouncy seat
and was never a "hold me, hold me, hold me" baby. I was one of those
moms who always had time to shower and go to the gym and go to
Starbucks. Oh, don't worry this is not going to be one of those my
life is so wonderful blog entries because then Michael turned two.
He may have been an easy baby, but he has been an insanely difficult
toddler. I think more difficult than the average toddler, but I may
have a slanted view on this issue. Part of that is because he is
incredibly verbal and the son of a lawyer. He believes everything is
negotiable. Bedtime, bath time, dessert, more tv, all negotiable. No
does not mean
no, it means, "but Mommy," "how about," "I have an idea," or my
favorite, "let's talk about this."
Everyone told me, the twos
are hard. The threes are hard. Just wait until he turns four. Four
is better. Michael has been four for two weeks. Everyone lied.
The way people were talking, I expected the Heavens to part and the sun
to shine and the birds to start chirping and my preschool monster to
turn into the most obedient child on earth. I expected all sentences
to being with please and the answer to every question to be yes ma'am.
Wait a minute. Maybe four is better and my expectations were just way off base.
Don't
get me wrong, I love my son. I adore my son. But everything is a
battle. I have to ask him to put his coat on twenty times in the
morning before we get out the door. I know four year olds can dress
themselves and should dress themselves but mine can and won't. The
stubborness is killing me. (He gets that all from his father. I'm not
stubborn at all.)
I know the stages of development. I know he is
just trying to assert his independence and it is natural and good and
blah, blah, blah. But does it have to be natural and good and oh so
aggravating at the same time? Because he is also bright and
inquisitive and funny. But sometimes I get so caught up in the battle
of wills I forget that.
So please, tell me five is better. Let me at least hang on to that hope for the next year.
