Terrorists

I'm not a fan of terrorists.  (Please note that government agent who is reading this: I don't like them!)

I don't like the terrorists that blow up buildings and I don't like the kind that make my life difficult through acts of terrorism.

Lately, there has been a terrorist in my life, controlling me through excessive tantruming and screaming.  I have a picture of him.  Hold on and I'll show you...

Although, at this point, his face is clean and his hair has been cut.

I'm sure that it sucks to be a pre-verbal toddler.  I assume that you have all these pent up thoughts and wants and words inside you and you just can't make your mouth move the right way to tell someone about it.  I'm almost positive that it is frustration that leads to some of the tantruming.

I'm here to tell you, it sucks to be the parent of a pre-verbal toddler as well.  It is constant vigilance and, occasionally, surrender to the tantruming party.

But some of his tantrums are simply caused by the fact that he emerged from my body knowing exactly what he wanted, when he wanted and from a very early age, he has worked to get it.

I'm a big believer that I, as his mother, am responsible for teaching him how to deal with big emotions.  Punishing him for having them probably wouldn't do anything but teach him to bottle them up and not share them with me, which I would think could have far reaching implications when he's older.  So we talk.  And talk. And talk.  And I try to help him label his big emotions and  process his anger or sadness or disappointment so that, when he becomes verbal, he can look at me and say, "Mommy, I'm angry!"

Or, you know, "Mommy, I hate you!"  Whatever.