A Letter to my Tantruming Toddler

Baby, I see you.  I hear you.  Oh, trust me do I hear you.  I’m fairly certain everyone in this grocery store hears you.  I know it must be tough for you to want something so badly but not receive it, and to not be sure I understand what it is you want.  You have less than two years of experience and development under your belt, and I can only imagine how difficult it is to learn that sometimes you just don’t get what you want.

You’ve made it incredibly clear in the past six months that you have an opinion.  Sometimes it seems that you have an opinion about absolutely everything, things that I no longer worry myself over, like which spoon to use at dinner time.  So many aspects of your life that seem little to me, feel monumental to you, and I know it’s because it’s all new to you.  You’re learning how this world works, and I completely get that.

The unfortunate thing is that I may love you with all of my heart, but I can’t always say yes to you.  I can’t say yes when you want me to hand you daddy’s drill.  I know it looks like a really fun time, but it’s dangerous in your tiny hands.  I can’t say yes when you want to walk in the grocery store, instead of riding in the cart.  I just don’t have enough hands to shop while holding your hand.  I can’t say yes to you because you’re screaming your demands, and you can’t grow up thinking it is okay to talk to anyone that way.

Here’s the deal, little one.  You are the best thing in my life, truly.   I sometimes worry that you’ll grow up and not realize the depth of my love for you.  In fact, I’m fairly certain you won’t ever understand how much I really love you.  One day, you might think back on your childhood, and remember all of the times you were told no.  I promise you that I’m doing my best to say yes to all of the great things that will make your life richer, but you’re going to hear the word no, and you’re going to be chastised.  You’re going to have lots and lots of time-outs.  You’re going to have to learn consequences for your actions.

One day, I hope your life is blessed with children, and you’ll begin to understand how complicated that love is.  And on that day, when you’re standing in the grocery store, drenched in sweat from the struggle and the attention of passersby, I hope there’s a tiny sliver of your brain that thinks about your mama and understands that, despite the embarrassment, frustration, and irritation, she still loved you with every piece of her heart.

 

Love always (even on your worst days),

Mom