2.5

Parenting a toddler is hard. Two-and-a-half is turning out to be a particularly difficult age. My days are filled with shouts of “NO!” and “You go away!” and “Mine!”  My entreaties to Ian imploring him to share or ask nicely or not play with electrical cords (!) are often met with stony silence and a glare. I’m left wondering if, despite my best efforts, I am raising a spoiled, mean child.

And then there are days like today.

Today I had a headache and vertigo that kept me confined to the bed for most of the afternoon. When Ian heard I was sick, he ran into the room and asked to climb onto the bed.

“Mommy, are you sick?” he asked, while petting my hair.

“Yes, I feel yucky,” I replied.

“I love you sooooo much,” he said. He laid next to me for a moment, but quickly sat up and proclaimed, “I’ll be riiiiiight back.”

A few minutes later Ian came running into the room and climbed onto the bed again. He started pulling on his shirt, and eventually he pulled out an ice cream scoop and started playing it like a clarinet. I burst into giggles despite my headache.

“Ian, would you sing the alphabet song for me?”

“Yeah! A B C D A F G, H I K K N N N O P, Q R S, T U V, W X, Y — Z!!!!!!!!” He finished with a flourish, wagging his head as he sang the last letter. “Want me to sing it again?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Did that help you feel better, Mommy?”

“Yes, it did,” I replied.

I was treated to several more renditions of the alphabet and Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star before Ian got called away to naptime by his daddy.

Yes, most days are very, very hard. But occasionally I get a beautiful reminder that my son is not mean or a brat. He’s just two-and-a-half, an age of highs and lows, screams and snuggles, conflict and love.