It’s no secret to anyone who knows me that I struggled when my daughter was a baby. I had postpartum depression and anxiety, breastfeeding issues, and felt disconnected from my beautiful baby due to sleep problems and a general sense of dread.
When she turned 1, I started to feel like maybe I could get into this whole parenting thing. It’s also the time that we transitioned to a Montessori home, which I am certain helped because it gave me a sense of purpose and guidance.
Then she turned TWO.
Most people will tell you all the worst parts of 2-year-olds: The tantrums, the noise, THE MESS.
I say whatever.
A 2-year-old is AWESOME.
Mine can carry on conversations. We go to the zoo and she asks for specific animals, talks about what she sees, says hi to people… and giraffes and elephants and the plants.
She can sing. She belts out “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” and “Let It Go” (which I don’t even hate because her voice is so precious).
She can do things for herself; she picks out her own clothes, helps set the table, gets her own water, cleans up her toys.
She has a HILARIOUS sense of humor. She cracks herself up, tries to tell jokes, and when she laughs, I feel my heart soar.
She has interests. She’ll tell you all about numbers, carry on about her baby dolls, jump until I’m certain that she’s going to fall over from exhaustion, and talk endlessly about cars.
SHE CAN PUT HERSELF TO BED! Seriously. We give her a bath, help her with her pajamas, read a couple books, then say goodnight. And we usually don’t hear from her until morning.
But my favorite part?
She climbs into my lap, rubs my cheeks with her small hands, lays her head on my chest, and says:
I love you, Mommy.
Any tantrums or noise or mess are so minor when I compare it to that.
