Terrible twos?

Terrible Twos. 

Whoever invented that idiom did it with malicious and insidious intent. That phrase was created to make new parents think that the twos are the worst it gets. When new parents are reduced, every night, to a puddle of exhaustion and stress after dealing with their two and a half year old child all day long, these two words give them a sense that things will get better. "Ah yes but this is the terrible twos. Things can't possibly get any worse." 

Oh. 

My. 

God.

Things get so, so, so much worse. 

I have a psychologist friend who once compared having a 3 year old child to being on the front lines of a war. She said being on the front lines was, according to a study, less stressful. Where the f*%$ can I sign up. 

I don't even know where to start, my head is pounding, my spine is aching, and I feel symptoms of depression coming on. Here's what happened this morning. 

2:30 am - Pickle comes into our room and lies down on her little mat we've put there, as she does every night around this time. I lie awake for a while, as I usually do at this time. 

3:30 am - I finally drift off to sleep.

4:00 am - Pickle asks for some milk. I wake up with a start and get it for her. This is also very normal.

4:30 am - She wants to get into my bed. I let her, as I know that usually she gets back into hers shortly afterwards.

4:30 am - 5:00 am - I am kicked, whacked, wiggled against, whined at, all while she is sleeping and I am categorically not.

5:00 - She wakes up and gets back onto her mat. 

5:15 - She tells me she wants to have a wee wee. I have to go with her or she won't go. She holds it for way too long usually (she has been potty trained since she was two and a half and that's another shit show...literally) so I don't want to create any obstacles.

5:30 - She tells me she wants to go back to her own room in her own bed. I tell her, exhausted at this point, and pretty frustrated, but keeping my voice calm, that she can go by herself. At this point she absolutely loses her shit. She screams, cries, kicks me, kicks the bed, slides to the floor in dramatic paroxysms of grief, pushes me away whilst at the same time pulling me towards her (this is talented I tell you), all the while I'm thinking "Should I just do what she wants? But then she'll think she can just have a hissy fit every time she wants me to do it! Maybe I should because I cannot handle this right now. Again." As I am lying there, her cries and screams escalate, until she is in a spiral of stress and panic, hitting me, screaming, and she doesn't even know what she's crying about. My husband is lying there next to me with his eyes wide open, in a "what the hell are we supposed to do about this" kind of stare, I'm rubbing her back saying "It's okay sweetie. It's okay. I love you" not having a clue how I'm supposed to react, or what to do to help her, and this is what we wake up to. 

This isn't the first time she has done this. 

At some point in this chaotic symphony of shock and stress I say "Okay why don't you choose a book and I'll read it to you on the couch." so we do. She calms. We read like that for ages. She cuddles into me as I read as if I am some sort of recharging station. As if she wants to actually climb back inside me. That feeling of her blending into me, the near aggressiveness of her snuggles, is like a drug. It's addictive and dangerous. I heard someone compare toddlers to heroin dealers, they manipulate you and use you and make you feel like shit until you are a shell of yourself, and then they give you a hug and it's this massive dopamine hit  you just want more and more and more of it and you'll do anything to get it. 

So...at the moment, that's my life. I am broken. 

Speaking of which, I really need to go to bed. I'm on the frontlines at about 2:30 am tomorrow.

Thanks for reading x