Emily – my terrible two year old
Emily, I often forget just how old you are now. You are my baby, and you always will be, so I find it such a shock when all of a sudden you seem to have grown up. I realise that you are no longer that tiny child I could cradle in one arm, but a little girl. A little person, developing your own personality.
It’s a joy to see you become your own person, with your brilliant sense of humour. There are times when you make me howl with laughter. You enjoy being a clown, and love to make other people laugh too. When you find something funny, your laugh is infectious and I find myself joining in with your giggles. I love the times when you have obviously recalled something funny that has happen previously, and can’t stop yourself laughing about it. That laugh is music to my ears, it makes my whole body smile.
It isn’t all giggles though, you have embraced the tantrum with gusto. The other morning you writhed around on the floor, red faced and screaming, tears streaming down your face because you didn’t want me to brush your hair. Then when I relented and decided to brush your sister’s hair instead, you managed to up the tantrum to a whole new level because I wasn’t doing your hair. You had a tantrum because I asked you if you wanted one thing for lunch, and then when I suggested an alternative, you cried even harder because you wanted the first option. You cried when I tried to help you buckle your shoes and then upset yourself even more when you couldn’t do them yourself.
I can’t win.
But I have to admire how you know your mind so completely, throwing every emotion into demonstrating how much you want something – even if this thought lasts for a brief moment before you change your mind about what it is you (think) you want. Your tantrums really are terrible. My terrible two year old. And I love you, terribly x