He's 2. And with that age, for him anyway, came lots of difficult transitions. Namely, a sister. Sharing his parents. Lots of learning. Speaking. Introduction to the world of potty training. More freedom. Less freedom. More energy. Less sleeping. New toys. Sharing old toys with his new sibling. Learning more boundaries. Acquiring new skills. Transitioning to a big-boy bed. On and on and on.
I think it goes without saying (though I appear to be saying it anyway) that he's in constant learning mode...changing every day...discovering. Heavy duty transition. This is all normal.
And maybe that is what I'll remind myself tomorrow when he throws himself on the ground for the umpteenth time, flailing his arms and legs and whining in the highest pitch possible. Or when he dumps his bowl of cereal on the table. Drops his spoon or cup (on purpose). Jumps on his train table. Throws a toy at his sister. Tackles the dog while she's sleeping. Climbs onto my computer desk and shouts "Yaaay! Up!" Climbs in his sisters bed and throws her things out of it. Pulls all the books off his bookshelf. Opens the fridge and removes whatever he thinks he needs, in bulk. Spits out his lunch. dinner. and breakfast. Grabs my cell-phone and dials Japan, telling them "Me? Pablo? Doc? Lightening? (as in Backyardigans and Cars...sigh)
I'll remind myself that he's only 2.
That he's in the middle of so many changes, many and most of which are just a part of growing up.
That this too shall pass.
And that he's 2. Did I say that already?
I would remind myself that I love him to moon and back, except I never forget that part...