The Mistaken Identity of a Toddler

Who is this child living in my house? He's three feet tall, with dirty blond hair and blue eyes, and he pushes my buttons at every opportunity. I used to smile politely and nod when someone would mention the "Terrible 2's." Not my kid, I would think to myself. My toddler was pleasant, courteous, and kind to others. I had never witnessed a tantrum. Just your typical nagging and whining. Nothing I couldn't handle. I figured I had gotten off easy, so I dared not complain. Which is why this stranger in my house leaves me feeling so perplexed.

He no longer does anything without resistance, except maybe choose a lollipop flavor or run around in the backyard. My requests are met with "No" and the occasional "No way, Jose!" Getting him out the door is a chore. Getting him upstairs for a nap is like drawing blood from a stone. Getting him to come inside from playing outdoors is like asking him to give up his favorite blanket. He seems to know exactly how to drive me crazy at any given moment. He's a pro. That's how I know this is not the same child I've been raising for the past two and a half years.

Before he could talk, Daniel was an agreeable baby. He had a pleasant demeanor and was almost always content to do whatever I wanted him to do. Don't get me wrong -- he's still extremely well-behaved (at least compared to some of his peers whom I've observed) and consistently happy. Dealing with him is pretty easy. I guess I was spoiled, though, because this shift in attitude is killing me. I'd sooner find out that my son has been abducted by aliens and replaced with a doppelganger than to admit that he has become a typical two and a half year old. I seem to be losing this fight.

One of these days, I'll ask Daniel to sit down for breakfast or clean up his toys and he'll just DO IT! I'll be shocked and overjoyed, and I'll count it as a small victory for toddler mommies everywhere. It's the little things.