Terrible Twos. I've heard that phrase so many times, and applied to a whole range of toddler ages. I think Landon may be coming into his own more difficult phase at 22 months. He has so many more things he wants to try, a will he is constantly trying to assert (without the language to clearly specify his plan) and not many skills for coping when things don't go his way.
He's developing more, apparently. But most of the time, his experiments toward this end feel so unproductive. I mean, how do you tell a toddler that screaming and thrashing about is not an effective way to get what he wants? Especially, when sometimes, if this mama walks in the door at 7:00 pm after a long day's work and wants peace for the 30 minutes we'll get to see each other, it is.
Today was one of those long days. Maybe it was for Landon, too, because he seemed out-of-sorts and particularly cranky. Watching tears stream down his face as he cried about nothing and everything has the power to reduce Bill and I to two quietly resigned, teeth-grinding adults who must make every effort to not take out our frustation in snappiness with each other. It's a helpless feeling to watch your son have a meltdown and have exhausted all ideas to improve the situation and none worked.
But bedtime finally came. And while I would have loved for the lead-up to have been peaceful and snuggly, and following our comforting routine, I was grateful all the same. Grateful that Landon was so worn out that he would only sob for five minutes before conceding to much-needed sleep. Grateful that he could go to bed and we could try for something better tomorrow.