Last week, post Sandy, I was leaving the gym when I heard a woman snapping at her two-year-old boy who was crying. “Use your words,” she said. “And why are your shoes off?” Cry. “It’s raining out. You can’t walk out like that.”The little chubs continued to cry. “Let’s go. Put your shoes on so we can leave.” Then I thought what if I could take a peak into his little mind. What was he really thinking and wishing he could say?
Mom: “Use your words. What’s with all the crying?”
Baby boy: With all due respect, mother dear, screw my words. I AM TWO! Has it occurred to you that I have a limited vocabulary at my brain and tongue’s disposal? Enough to have people coo at me and find me cute, but certainly not enough to communicate my real thoughts with you. When was the last time you heard someone my age make meaningful sentences? Christ! Even when I do use the words I know like why, how, what, you lose your patience. So, for now I’ll use the only method that has gotten your attention in the past: crying. It would make you feed me and change me. How come you are slacking off?
Mom: And why are your shoes off?
Baby boy: Because they are so last week. I am growing by the minute. Look at the size of me now. I don’t fit in those stinking shoes. The suckers hurt. You can carry them. I have decided to walk barefoot. It’ll be good for my immune system anyway.
Mom: “Let’s go. Put your shoes on so we can leave.”
Baby boy: You brought me here more than an hour ago and left me with the weirdo daycare lady. No other mother was crazy enough to go to the gym on hurricane day. I spent all that time alone while you got your freak on. I’m hungry and my feet hurt. How can you be so oblivious to my needs? It’s common sense woman. You are the grown up here. Forget about it. No peace for you.
Oh and also quit saying No, Hush, and all those negative things to me four hundred times a day. I’m beginning to develop a poor sense of self-confidence. Who knows what that means when I grow up.
Sniff, sniff. Besides, in my circle we like to call it Terrific Twos not Terrible Twos. Weren’t you ever two years old?