Hey you, yeah you, the mama over there with the toddler
that just got out of the pool and is running for the exit. I see you. I see you
chasing him and telling him he can’t leave without you. I see you as he yells and
twists out of your grasp until you’re just hanging on to a kicking leg. I see the
anger and desperation in your eyes.
I see you.
For you motherhood was like stepping into a slightly
chilly pool. Uncomfortable and unknown at times, but you always stayed where
you could touch. Your head was always above the water and postpartum was more
of a high than a low. You loved being a mom from day one and even though there
were a few waves in the beginning the waters soon smoothed and warmed. Your
baby adjusted effortlessly through developmental stages and you didn’t really
relate to the mom-talk of regressions and overwhelming sleep deprivation. For a
good two years you floated along with a smile on your face and a tiny bit of a
chip on your shoulder. Maybe you just got lucky or maybe God had mercy on you because
he knew what was coming.
Toddlerhood threw you right in the deep end where the
warm water has turned to ice. You are flailing and choking and you can’t get a
grip on the edge. You weren’t ready for the battle of wills, the screaming, and
the talking back. You don’t know how to respond when he won’t follow a simple
command like putting on his clothes. He wants to brush his teeth himself but
gets mad at you when he can’t get the cap off of the toothpaste. When you give
him the wrong cup at dinner he acts like you killed the dog. He uses the toilet
at school but refuses to even sit on the one at home. “Because I don’t want to” is his favorite
phrase and you’re tempted to have it tattooed on him. You’re not confident in
your discipline methods because nothing seems to work. He can sense this
weakness and so he doesn’t take you seriously. You resort to having your
partner be the bad guy. You feel inadequate and it’s pulling you under.
I see you and you’re not alone. I’m here too.
So what do we do? We remember that the little terrors we
see in front of us today were not always and will not always be. We try to
think about how the world looks to them as they try to figure out. We give them
the space, options, and tools they need to express themselves. We hold on tight
to the sweet moments, like when they tell you about their day in their two-year
old vocabulary, give you an unexpected kiss, or laugh hysterically at something
you never thought was funny before.
We can claw our way out together. I’ll give you a boost
and you can pull me up. Rumor is that moms do survive this, and they’re waiting
for us under the umbrellas with words of encouragement, war stories, and wine.
