My son lulled me into a false sense of security. We got about four good months of his being the perfect two-year-old before the terrible twos started in earnest. And man, did they start. Every little routine daily activity was no longer routine — it was a battle of wills between us. He got mad. I got mad. His mother got mad.
Worst of all, it was affecting how we felt about our parenting. It’s hard to feel good about raising the youth of tomorrow when you feel overwhelmed, frustrated and utterly emotionally beaten.
Thanks to a little nugget of wisdom, though, things are better. Not perfect, mind you, but better. A lot better.