So….I am proud to say that I survived the “terrible twos” that everyone seems to rant and rave about.  To be perfectly honest, the twos weren’t so terrible after all; a few short-lived tantrums here and there, a handful of embarrassing moments at the mall, a little sprinkle of defiance.  But nothing outrageous. Nothing as heinous or gory as I expected.  I have to say, I spent most of my son’s second year waiting for impending doom, thinking, any day now, I’ll be living with the kid from the exorcist.  But it just didn’t happen. I thought to myself, how lucky am I to have gotten away scot-free, avoiding that dreadful, bratty phase that makes you want to gauge your eyes out.

Daycare….. On the one hand, it’s a wonderful place for my son to interact with his peers, do all kinds of funsick_3 activities and learn new skills.  But on the other hand, daycare is also an environment infested with NASTY, DIRTY, toddler germs. After a few months of being in the daycare scene, I finally came to the realization that there is just no way of getting around the fact that if your kid is in daycare and exposed to other children, he is going to get sick….ALOT!

Six months ago, I was completely consumed with my son’s picky eating habits.  His diet consisted of Cheerios and toast and despite everyone’s efforts to reassure me that this was a phase he would eventually grow out of, I was convinced that my son was somehow the exception, that his stubborn refusal to try new things would last FOREVER.

I HATE winter.  Actually, DESPISE would be a more accurate description. You’d think that after living my entire life in Montreal, I would have developed a certain level of acceptance and simply surrender to the frigid cold, the ridiculous amount of snow and the wind chill.  But unfortunately this is not the case. And now that I have an active two-and-a-half- year-old toddler,  I’ve been forced to confront winter head-on, instead of avoiding it like the plague as I had done in the past, hiding under blankets in my warm socks.

Every evening around 5:30 pm, I get ready to enter into battle.  I arm myself with a smorgasbord of food:  Main meal…..check.  Back-up meal….check.  Last-resort-meal…..check.  My kitchen resembles a cross between a buffet restaurant and a war zone and I look like a frazzled waitress trying to unsuccessfully please her VERY demanding customer. I am stressed.  I am desperate.  I feel defeated.