So, here’s the thing I’m not really getting here folks…

WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME that when little people teeter upon the precipice of age two, they become, oh I dunno, Jekyll and Hyde…Two Face…Golem with the ring…Golem without the ring…Menopausal-Dorothy-from-Golden-Girls… Why? Why? Why?

I suppose knowing wouldn’t have made a difference, even to me – the girl who tries to prepare for (and subsequently control) every situation by researching it to death. It wouldn’t have changed anything, although some manner of preparedness might have been nice.

But Chris, everyone KNOWS that toddlers are difficult. It’s no secret that it’s called the “Terrible Twos.” All you had to do was pick up a book, or read any article on the subject.

Wellguesswhat, I DID. And you’re a fibber and you’re a fibber and you and you and you [finger pointing here…lots of finger pointing].

Here’s what the books say:

“When your little one grows from an infant into a toddler, they’re movers and shakers! They may become frustrated as they try to gain their independence and learn about the world in new ways. They may start to test you, and you may notice that things like being hungry or tired can cause outright tantrums.”

Here’s what they should have said:

“When your little one grows from an infant to a toddler, they move and shake in ways that involve kicking and slapping you for literally no reason at all, and other similar jackass behavior. They may become frustrated as they try to force their shoe onto their foot while refusing to let go of the dog’s tail, and learn about the world by literally smearing stuff all over it, including peanut butter and boogers. They will start to test your patience and endurance, and you may notice that simple actions like kindly stirring their yogurt, or sudden movements while they’re smiling can cause sudden fits of frightening anger that may or may not produce the sound of a Velociraptor being eaten by a T-Rex while a freight train derails.”

And there you have it, folks. The damn truth. See? Was that so hard?

So here’s the scoop for realsies. I am loving this stage. My little Bubbalooshki Bear is all of these hideous things. Truly. BUT…he is also able to run and jump now. He can say sentences people. Ok, they’re not much, but I find them impressive. (Run Mommy! Where Daddy go? Chloe potty outside!) He tells me when he has to poop (after he’s done it, and while refusing to sit on the potty). He eats just about whatever you give him. He gives the most scrumptious, warm, fuzzy huggies and kissies you’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving, and his laugh is the most righteous example of what the world needs to hear every day while commuting to work.

I love that kid. I love him I love him I love him. I’m a love-struck idiot for a guy who’s sadistic mind games, peppered with moments of sheer joy and meaningful giggles, keep me coming back for more rides on his wacky-fun-house-tilt-a-whirl. I love him for laughing unfailingly when I tickle his armpits or smell his feet. I love him for the serious effort he puts into mowing the yard with his bubble-mower. I love him for helping me pick up weeds one at a time, and for doing the worst job of wiping your own nose that anyone could ever do. I love him for the way he runs to me when I pick him up from daycare, the day’s accumulation of boogers crusted solid beneath the nose that rests just above his tiny lip, which is mottled with the fuzzy blond hairs that make up his little Lorax ‘stache.

“Toddler” is not a state of being, it’s a condition – a bestial, repulsive condition that is simultaneously wonderful, and magical, and hilarious, with the ability to make you grateful for every failure because of the ensuing triumph that is sure to follow.