Are the twos really terrible?

This summer, my daughter Evie will be two years old.

Up to this point, I thought ‘wow, everyone really exaggerated the tough parenting thing’; as Evie was good-natured, happy, developing very well, growing like a wild fungus. Many of the concerns other parents had told me about were unfounded with Evie.

We had very few issues, and the first year had been a tiring, but very rewarding year. So I figured everything to come that we were warned about was also over hyped. Then we hit it early, at about 18 months. The terrible twos. I thought it was all tall tales, legends blown up to crazy proportions over time, cautionary fairy tales for new parents.

Nope. It is exactly what everyone told you it would be. Terrible. An example if you will. Evie wakes up, she is happy. She sings, dances, and jumps on the couch. She plays with some toys, laughs at the Wiggles on TV. We get her ready for daycare, which she absolutely loves. She is dressed, coat on, still happy and singing. Time to put on her socks. As soon as the word ‘socks’ is spoken, it is as if she was previously hypnotized and that was her trigger word.

She throws her head back violently, screams at a pitch that sent the dog running for cover, and kicked her feet so hard as to almost throw herself out of her Mommy’s lap.

Up to this day, she had no aversion to socks — kinda liked them actually. She liked to put them on, pull them off. Today, however, she was convinced they were on fire, and Mommy and Daddy lit them on purpose.

It took a solid 10 minutes to get them on, and strangely, after they were on, the tears abruptly stopped, she sat up, smiled and looked at the dog and said ‘whoos at?’ (Meaning in adult language of course, who is that.)

She smiled and carried on all the way to daycare as if nothing happened. Mommy and Daddy were still shaking. And now, this is the kind of occurrence that happens at least once a day, and only ever in the company of the parents. If there is anyone else around, she is an angel. ‘No one will ever believe them,’ she thinks, as a deep Vincent Price laugh bellows loudly. Or at least I am pretty sure that is what is going on in her head when she looks at me and smiles.

And so continues the trials and tribulations of being a Dad. There are huge bonuses in addition to the torment. Leaving for work one day, almost out the door, she goes up to the baby gate and yells “Bye Dada”. Her first time using the Dada word in context choked me up.

At Easter dinner we asked her where everyone at the table is. At one point, she puts her hand on my shoulder and says “my Dada” and leans her head on my arm. I thought, ‘did someone pay her to do that?’

All I can think in moments like that is please don’t let her ever ask for a pony with that same tone. My wife teases that she will go out for groceries one day and come home to a carnival in the backyard. How will I explain the bears in tutus to the neighbours? How will I say no?

I guess I have to wait and see...