The age of 2, it seems, is a difficult one. My daughter, who is as beautiful as an angel, has the propensity to turn from an idyllic little person into a ranting demon in a split second. She has also developed the high pitch scream of frustration, should anyone do anything that displeases her. It is a noisy, confusing and exhausting time in our household right now.
At the same time she is engaging, chatty and adorable. Her favourite TV show right now is Team Umizoomi. She is Milly. Bob is Geo and I am Bot. Allegedly. I am amazed at her maths ability, her shape recognition and her colour skills. My little lady is a smart cookie.
Hubby and I have recently discovered hours of camcorder video that we had failed to upload to our computers. Footage of our little man when he was 14 days old brings back so many memories. Seeing him as a baby is strange. I remember him as a baby, but seeing his features all small and newborn is like looking through fog. I know those features, yet they are alien to me. Unfamiliar now. Five years later and the face I see that greets me, bleary eyed, in the mornings and full of smiles in the day, is so very different to the small, fragile, precious baby that I see on screen. It all goes by so fast.
And so I remember. Two is an age. Tantrums are a phase. It will pass. It will pass quickly and soon these days of screams and tears will be alien to me. Unfamiliar as a new age, a new phase becomes the norm.