The terrible twos carry a lot of noteriety. They’re called “terrible,” for goodness sake.
Everyone tells you the same things, but they all carry the same message:
You’re in for it now.
You’re warned of tantrums and fights and struggle. You’re warned that you’ll just have to bear through them.
And while it’s true that two comes with an abundance of challenges and steep learning curves, there’s so much more to be said about two.
No one tells you that this is the age you get a person. This is the age you get a side kick, a partner in crime, a fellow adventurer.
This is the age of silly, nonsense conversations, stories of horses and planes only she seems to see. This is the age of requests for tickles and cuddles and cookies, for serious chats about pretending to be bears and pies made out of pancakes.
This is the age of mischevious, toothy grins and dancing with abandon. Of singing made up lyrics at the top of lungs and crayon scribbles that are actually people and pets.
This is the age of belly laughs and whispered secrets never told. This is the age of the sweetest “dank you, momma” and the sassiest “I gon ticko you, mommy!”
It’s also the age you enter a new season of mamahood. When you start knowing the solution more often than you don’t. When you catch the sippy cup before it hits the ground and stop the speeding toddler before she knocks the plate off the table.
It’s the age when you carry less and sleep more. When you find yourself relaxing more often than you leap. When you start to trust yourself as well as your child. (Okay, your toddler isn’t still probably lying about not needing to use the potty, but #winsomelosesome.)
Two is the age when you start really parenting, which is great timing because you actually start to feel like a capable parent at the same time.
There’s a lot they don’t tell you about two, and there’s a lot I can’t tell because it would take ten thousand words. But suffice to say, it’s a special, frustrating, magic time.
And I wouldn’t trade two for the world.