One day last week, Dave and I officially earned our parenthood stripes. Amelia was up three times in the night (and up for good by 5:45am), kicked and screamed through her diaper change (NOT good for anyone involved), writhed and wailed while being dressed, asked for frosted mini wheats only to reject them minutes later in favor of mommy and daddy's granola. More screaming. All of this before 8am. Throughout the rest of the morning, she followed me from room to room, whining, "play in my playroom, mommy," and effectively eliminated any of my remaining personal space by lodging herself in between me and the changing table/kitchen counter/bathroom sink. When I settled in on the couch to feed Sadie, she tried to remove her from my lap, crying, "put Sadie down, pick Mia up!" Even my final reserve, Playdough, which I save for very special occasions, was a total bust. She mixed all the colors together and finally decided to eat it- not because it looked good, but because, of course, I had told her not to.
Though this was not a typical day for Amelia, it was not all together untypical, either. Especially lately. I don't talk to many people about my difficulties, but those who I have spoken to assure me that all of these things are a product of the terrible two's, that this is a stage every child goes through and that I shouldn't worry so much about her. But I worry. I worry that she will become the bratty pastor's kid that everyone whispers about. I worry that I'm not providing enough structure or discipline. I worry that I'm providing too much structure or discipline. I worry that our move across country has made her insecure and created her various misbehaviors. This stuff keeps me up at night.
This is our first performance as parents, and unfortunately we didn't get a dress rehearsal. And though Dave and I are doing the best we can, we are undoubtedly screwing up at least a few things as we try to raise her. My mother, who is very often my sounding board and my voice of reason, encouraged me on that difficult day to concentrate on all the things that we're doing right with Amelia. That helped because she really is a great little kid. She says please and thank-you (most of the time). She loves her baby sister and squeals with delight when she sees her. Every night she gets on her knees beside her bed and prays for her friends ("thank-you for Addison and help Michael to feel better..."). She loves to help out and is crazy about our special "mommy and Mia" trips to the Piggly Wiggly or Walmart. And last week when Dave took her to the park, while he was pushing her on the swing she exclaimed, completely unsolicited, "Daddy, you rock my socks." There's nothing better than that.
And so we push on. We endure her tantrums and savor her sweetness, knowing that every stage along the way will most likely have this duality. Something I tell friends who have had new babies is that there is no perfect stage. There are great things and difficult things about every stage, and it is important to appreciate it all because before you know it, they're not babies anymore. Even though there are days like last week and her 3rd birthday seems a million miles away, I am more in love with her now than ever.
