I had been warned about the dreaded “terrible two’s.” I braced myself for the day when my sweet boy would transform into a raging mother-eating machine. I waited, but that anticipated day didn’t come. Was every day perfect? Far from it, but it seemed to be a normal amount of fits mixed in with good days of growing together.
As he approached 3, the highly anticipated metamorphosis began. More tantrums and he started to demand an unbelievable amount of attention. My TBP made it close to impossible to talk on the phone, often ignored visitors because he wanted it to be just the two of us, and any attention that I gave other children was halted by his inappropriate behavior.
At 4, my son promised that he would wet his pants if I helped other children while volunteering in his preschool. I called his bluff and shortly after, I was walking out with my TBP who was walking like a cowboy that had spent too much time in the Wild Frontier. Yes…he was soaked! The same year, my TBP decided to share his feelings with a friend. Sounds great, right? It would have been if the letters would have been sweet and friendly; however, the series of letters were filled with inappropriate potty talk that had been designed to hurt feelings.
At 5 , my son was turning into quite a negotiator and tried to control most situations. One afternoon, I was determined to take my TBP to a magic show at the library. Despite leaving early, there was already a long line that snaked around the building. I began to wonder if I wanted to be there either. My TBP said, “Wouldn’t we prefer a nice iced latte at Starbucks instead of this mess?”. The way he said it made it sound as though he was being helpful and considerate. Before I knew it, we were sitting at a small table for two with our favorite beverages. ” Better, right?”. I was played.
Kindergarten would be starting soon. I knew he was academically ready, but I wasn’t sure about the other parts. I adore my son but…What I didn’t know was that things were about to take an unexpected turn for the worse.