Terrible Twos

The first time I had a two-year old, it was a bit of a disaster. To begin with, I really didn’t know what I was doing. On top of that, I was pregnant and had the patience of whoever is the opposite of Job. Poor Connor, my sweet, moody little boy, who just wanted to eat his chicken nuggets in peace and have every fledgling attempt at a conversation understood perfectly. His crazy, hormonal mother kept asking him to try exotic foods (such as plain white rice), and couldn’t help but look at him quizzically when he talked. It was frustrating for both of us, but we made it through.

This time around, I still don’t know what I’m doing, but at least my hormone levels are carefully regulated so my patience is much less thin. As a result, Chloe at age two seems like an absolute delight. What’s that? You’d like specific examples? If you insist.


Chloe is an entertainer. She sings well, and loves to insert new words or phrases into whatever she’s singing, matching up the syllables and then flowing seamlessly back into the original lyrics. She’s also pretty funny, earning the nickname “Lucille Ball” from her Mimi. She is constantly yapping and will make a mental note of what makes you laugh so she can spring it on you again when you least expect it.

Sure she whines, as two-year-olds do, but she has a very distinct “real” whine that she saves for truly frustrating moments. That’s not to say she doesn’t test out a fake whine for effect every now and then. It’s just that she knows she’s full of shit, so she gives us the fake whine with a little twinkle in her eye. She’s in on the joke, and she’s waiting for you to call her out on her B.S. so you can both get a good laugh out of it. Who knew whining could be entertaining?


What else? She doesn’t speak as clearly as some kids her age, but she has a huge vocabulary. She is able to say a lot, and really carry on significant conversations. She still loves her paci and blankie. She also loves to add that “eee” sound to the end of any word, asking me for “juicy please” when she’s thirsty and telling me her bath water is “Coldy coldy coldy!” She wishes she could swim as well as her brother, and also play with all his toys. Her favorite phrase is "I WANNA DO IT!" as she fights the age-old battle for independence.

Last weekend we finally disassembled her crib and stored it in the attic. She hasn’t slept in it in months, but I put off this official close of the baby era as long as I could. It was a little bit sad, but not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I warned Chloe before she went to Grammy’s Saturday night that her room would look different the next time she saw it. Chip and I spent the evening constructing toy shelves and rearranging furniture. I was worried that when she came home the next day she might have some kind of fit that her personal space had been violated. Instead, she was delighted. She shrieked and laughed and jumped around in circles, celebrating the changes. Then the next morning it was all new again as she emerged from her post-slumber haze. “My ROOM!” she yelled excitedly. “My chair is ober dare!” I think I could get used to having an agreeable child. I’ll enjoy it as long as I can, at least until she hits puberty and her raging hormones cause her to have the patience of, well, whoever is the opposite of Job.