Posted by Duff

Um, I was in a hurry for Atticus to get uber-mobile why?  We all know this comes at a price. It’s why seasoned parents say to the newbies “Just wait until he starts walking” with a smile on their faces and sheer joy in their hearts – the joy of people who know that you’re about to experience the fatigue that is Parenting a True Toddler.

Wow.

I’m happy for the little guy. He went from immobile to running and scaling at a good clip, which means that I am never out of reach. And neither is trouble. Or Food. Or Bugs. Or The Dervish’s many splendored things.

I pity The Dervish.  She now spends hours moving her belongings to higher ground, feels compelled to slam doors to keep him away from her.  It’s not easy. And morning time? Ugh. The Dervish needs her cuppa to get her going, while Atticus greets the day like a cheerful cannonball.

I’m not the one who wants to be smiled at,” says the Dervish, curling up like a pill bug. “Make him stop looking at me.”

She also doesn’t like to be touched, so while Atticus breakfasts at the kitchen table, The Dervish, luckily on the small side for her age (which, in case she hasn’t told you, is FOUR), perches from a high chair crow’s nest. “Don’t let him touch my babies,” she orders from behind her cereal.

This is only the morning.

There are toys for which they duke it out (usually things like empty water bottles and plain blocks, not the age specific toys on which we’ve likely wasted our money), and naps The Dervish is sure Atticus needs and she doesn’t so she can bask in the glory of temporary singleton.  And during these naps, relative peace.

But then the dive bombing and wrestling begins, which both kids love, and ends with someone crying and me raising my voice and two children being assigned to two different parents in two different locations.

And then bedtime. 

And while the days sometimes go too slowly for my patience, the weeks and months streak by with little regard for my heart.

“I wish my two were this age again,” said the pharmacist yesterday as he handed me my prescription. The two stinkers beamed at him from the two-seater grocery cart car.

“Hello,” said The Dervish.

“Buh-bye,” said Atticus.

Then they had a little skirmish on the car ride home over sippy cup ownership.

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