(If you have or plan to ever have a kid younger than two.)
You know what was fun about the glucose tolerance test yesterday? No, not the needle-wielding crazy nurse who seemed nice, but then jabbed me so hard my WHOLE ARM STILL IS FALLING OFF...no. Not her. Although, she was super.
Fun yesterday was being trapped in the lobby of the hospital lab area for an hour with a stack of Fancy Nancy books, a water cooler, and a three year-old. Plus several older folks tottering in and out, judging my parenting. Now that I think about it, those old folks were probably waiting for me to haul off and whack the tantrum out of her, rather than silently daring me to do so, so they can go ahead and call social services.
These are the peeps that will totally condone going old-school on a kid intent on peeling everybody's face off with her shrieks of fury. (You see, I wouldn't let her get another Dixie cup full of water to spit at the window. Because I don't want anyone to have any fun ever.)
Instead of avoiding eye contact with the nice grandmotherly lady with the giant floral handbag, I should have turned to her and said, "Edna, would you like to handle this one?" And then Edna would have called her pals Flo and Helen for back-up, and they all would have opened up a can of whup.
Here is the announcement part. This is like how no one wants to tell you about how you might pee or worse on your doctor while you deliver your baby. Or the hemorrhoids during/after pregnancy. Or the fact that babies are only, like, 15% fun, and the other 85% consists of boring and jerk. But there is something else you should know.
The idea of the "Terrible Twos" is a sick joke played on new parents by moms and dads of three and four year-olds. Whoever first said "terrible twos" said it sarcastically to a wide-eyed mom of a two year-old who was mischievously chasing the cat around, as this sarcastic person's own four year-old dressed the cat in a Rocky Horror getup and then set it on fire. And then ate it. While laughing maniacally over the sleeping forms of her once-innocent parents.
Later, when that mischievious two year-old turned three, then four, then feral, the mom got the joke. HA EFF-BALLS HA. She felt that her life was now harrowing and dismantled enough that she was justified in passing this joke on to moms of younger kids.
Your kid is two?? Oh, yeah, that can be the pits. Tsk. Tsk. Just terrible.