Words Cassidy Nunn
Photo Nunn Other Photography
“Tell me you have a toddler without telling me you have a toddler … ”I mutter to myself under my breath as I clean up a trail of Cheerios that are sprinkled like confetti in my bed, under my pillow, in the cracks of the bed frame – any spot the puppy, our devoted clean-up assistant, has yet to have been. I notice the stickers that have surreptitiously been pressed onto my bedside table and lamp shade and quickly peel them off before the kids, who are currently lying underneath my bed frame giggling away, notice. The roll of toilet paper in the ensuite bathroom has been completely unwound and lies in a heap in front of the toilet; my hairbrush has been abandoned in the middle of the shower along with an apple. A row of plastic toy horses parades around the sink and one of my cookbooks from the kitchen has made its way onto the bathroom floor; it lies open, a recipe for soup staring back at me. The kids laugh again as I say “who’s been cooking in the bathroom?!”
We have entered the toddler era with my youngest daughter, who recently turned two but has been in full toddler mode for several months already. And really it’s such a fun age – when it’s not kicking us to the curb with the challenges that come along with this age and stage. This is not our first rodeo, as my older daughter is now five years old (going on 13 some days it feels like). I have to say: toddlerdom the second time around is just as entertaining – and exhausting! My two-year-old already has strong opinions on what she will and will not wear. She throws her body to the ground on the daily with textbook-style tantrums – flailing her whole body and screaming as though the world is ending when all that happened is I handed her the cup of milk – the exact kind that she wanted (soy milk) in the exact cup (the green one) – that she requested not even two minutes ago. In the next breath she’ll gather herself up and run to clutch my leg in a fierce hug, peppering it with kisses. Then she’ll stare up at me with her big blue eyes and wide, cheeky smile and raise her arms up, saying “up-poo” which roughly translates to “pick me up please!” She enjoys practising her downward dog yoga pose in the most random spots around the house: in the closet, on the deck, in the garden bed …
We are in the stage of finding jacket pockets filled with rocks and other forest treasures, of crayon and marker streaks covering our kitchen table, the floors, the walls and sometimes her own limbs. We are in the age of short attention spans, near-constant movement, and a newfound sense of independence. She must do the stairs on her own, she no longer wants to hold my hand at daycare pick-ups and insists instead on wearing her own backpack, no matter how heavy it might be that day.
She demands to brush her own teeth, put on her own clothing, and feed herself “I DO! I DO! I DO!” she’ll bellow if you try to assist in any way with these tasks. The struggle is real. Dr. Emma Hostetter summed it up perfectly with her quote: “Sorry if I’m late for the rest of the year; my toddler wants to do it themselves.” This time is tender. It’s tough. It’s far from tidy. Yet it’s so treasured.
