Be Careful What You Wish For...

"Mommy!"

My child screams my name for the nth time while throwing himself on the floor, tears streaming down his face. He shouts the word another time as if the change in intonation and increase in volume will help his message get across, but I stare at him and demand almost in exasperation, "Anong gusto mo?" (What do you want?) It wasn't the answer he wanted, so he continues wailing.

Am I in that so-called terrible twos? He is, after all, just two months shy from his second birthday. It also feels easy to describe my state "terrible" when my brain cells are fried from work, and there seems to be no energy left for the physical demands of being a mom, much less figure out what your almost-two-years-old is suddenly crying about. I asked him if he wants his dede (milk bottle). I offered him ice cold water. I checked if he accidentally hurt himself and wanted to be comforted. His cries at this point had an accusatory edge. If he had the words, he would've blurted out,"Why don't you understand me, mommy? Why?!!"

I found myself wondering if things would be better if he could grow up a bit more and finally express himself; we wouldn't have to be frustrated with this guessing game.

Then, I had to stop from that line of thought--of wishing that he would grow up faster and life would be easier.

When he was a baby and all he did was sleep and eat, I wished that he would grow up faster so I could interact with him more. I thought it was a lonely job, having him in my arms and just watching him the entire day. I didn't enjoy that moment when all he needed was me (and my milk) and a nappy change before going back to his slumber.

And when he was able to move around, his curiosity did not match his physical abilities. So he wobbled and fell, and I wished he would grow up faster and move better so that I don't have to constantly watch him fall flat on his face. I didn't enjoy these last moments he would be dependent of me. Soon, he would be able to explore the world on his own.

Here I am again, my son wielding his limited vocabulary around angrily in an attempt to be understood, and I was wishing that he would grow up so he would be more comprehensible to me.

No, I do not want him to grow up. Not yet. The speed with which a human child grows is scarily fast. It was only last year when he was just a helpless baby, and here his now with a personality of his own--a totally different entity from myself with his own wants and needs. When I look at him and how much he is able to do, it really feels like I lost my baby at the blink of an eye.

I don't want to imagine him as an older child on his way to school. Or as an angsty teenager who thinks his parents are uncool. Today, he is my "terrible" toddler. I will enjoy his smile of wonder when he figures things out on his own. I will enjoy when he suddenly breaks into song at a random moment, singing "Down by the Bay" at the top of his lungs. I will enjoy when I tell him to do things and he miraculously listens. I will enjoy when he pushes me away to explore his world, and then screams my name if I stray out of his sight. I will enjoy that despite the numerous words he can say, he gets upset that none of them quite captures what he wants this moment.

What I really wish is just to go to sleep and have a little bit more energy for the next tantrum.