I think we're there. At least it feels like it. Owen didn't get enough sleep this weekend and now we're paying for it - BIG TIME. So, I'm hoping that's all this is. If, however, this really is "two" rearing its ugly head, I might have to lock him in a closet until he gets to 3, or 4. [Just kidding, mostly.]
Auntie Fae gave me some good advice on how to deal with the fray: "You may have to prepare for the fact that his little bootie might just be awfully red for the next several weeks." So true.
It's SO darn hard to remember in the heat of things [like tonight, after the second time he threw his milk on the floor and it spilled all over] that this, too, shall pass. That is the absolute best piece of parenting advice I've heard thus far, and, I'm convinced, the key to surviving this role of being a Mommy.
His little tush might be in a constant state of red, he may spend more time in his crib screaming his way through tantrums than either of us are prepared for, and he may need a spanking every time I turn around. But it will pass. It did with Caleb, and it will with Owen, too. In the mean time, I just have to take a deep breath and think of the good - like when he accomplishes something new and throws his hands up in the air with a resounding "I did it!", when he stops to rest his head on my shoulder, when I get to watch his cheeks [all 4 of them] jiggle as he runs across a playground or when he says "I wuv wu."
Ahh. Life is good. Hard sometimes, but definitely good.
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