happy cliché #3: the terrible twos

Fred Farkle is an a**hole.

Was an a**hole.

I mean, he’s dead.

But don’t feel bad.

You’ve probably never heard his name, but perhaps you’re familiar with the phrase he introduced to an otherwise pleasant society somewhere in the 1800’s:

The Terrible Twos.

This ex-cowboy alcoholic postmaster who couldn’t hold down a wife and had nary a child to his name, coined a phrase in a drunken stupor that continues to thrive in a world that has long forgotten him.

Every single mother and father out there knows that the “terrible twos” is bullsh*t. Which means that every grandparent knows it also. So the phrase should be dead. New parents should not be fearing the one year in their perfect child’s life that will turn them into a small, possibly hairless, wildebeest.

But in the spirit of Fred Farkle and being an a**hole, I’m going to make sure New and Expecting Parents really know the truth (even though they say they do):

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS THE TERRIBLE TWOS.

The phrase was a reflection of a man who could not recognize the true age of a child throwing a fit along his route. He also couldn’t think of a clever word that sounded good with the number one. So he muttered something along the lines of “terrible twos,” which spread like wildfire along the plains of an educationally parched land.

I know you don’t believe it, but your child is going to suck. Not always, and there will certainly be things that make having kids the most amazing and fulfilling turn of life and blah blah blah blah. But look, if you can accept now that your beautiful baby is going to fly into traumatic fits of rage with no clear start, stop or goal and it will not be contained in the Year of Two, it won’t be so bad. Expectations won’t be dashed and you won’t fear that you have somehow broken your child.

And if you happen to have a strong-willed kid who has their first tantrum at age 0 during a  diaper change, don’t start counting down to age Three. Instead, make an effort to count and clearly mark the days of your monthly cycle on a calendar in red ink. You will have better luck not spewing forth another child than to believe that your offspring will magically wake up a better addition to society on their 1095th day.

Because Three is the only year worse than Two, which was hella worse than One, which sucked a hundred times harder than Zero, which wasn’t appreciated for how easy it actually was because you were too busy comparing your child with your friend’s kid who was already walking and talking.

Please. Enjoy the baby. The beautiful, crying, tireless, demanding, sweet smelling babe that fits in your arms and is happy to be there. Don’t push it to roll over, crawl, walk or speak. It will do these things on its own and your place of dwelling will shrink and become a little more boring with each milestone.

So on this chilly November morn’, I’d like to present Fred Farkle with the first annual posthumous A**hole Award. Moms everywhere – raise a dirty diaper to the man who knew shit and deserved to be buried in it.

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©2008 CEK. All Rights Reserved. Touch my stuff and your ass is mine.

WHY THE REPOSTS?

Thanks for calling me out, dude. I’m taking a break to finish up my book. I’ll be back in a few weeks with new posts and comments and all that good stuff. In the meantime, if you want me to check out a post you’ve written, or need to contact me for any other reason, you can shoot me a note on Twitter or in the comments field of any post.

Tags: bad behavior, expectations, fred farkle, new moms, parenting, pregnancy, temper tantrums, terrible twos