Don't cry over the tantrums of the terrible twos... the fun is just beginning!

As our children grow, we watch them pass through change after change. The good changes, we deem Milestones: first crawling, first solid food, first steps, first words. The bad changes tend to be called Phases: the biting phase, the “No!” phase, the tearing up all books and magazines phase, the throwing food phase, the “Mine” phase. Milestones, of course, are bragged about over the phone lines to any living soul who will listen. Phases are at best explained with sheepish shrugs: “He’s going through that phase, you know.”
Some parents feel they can win the battle against phases. I once knew a woman who poured Tabasco sauce in her daughter’s mouth every time the two-year-old bit another child. When it happened at my house, I stopped her. One thing you learn when you have many children is that phases are phases and Tabasco sauce isn’t going to stop the frustration a child feels when she can’t talk, can’t communicate her emotions, and some other belligerent two-year-old has grabbed her dolly out of her hands.
Two-year-olds are supposed to be belligerent, though. They’re in the Me-Phase. They are learning that they are individuals, separate from Mom, and are learning to control their environment. Unfortunately there are some people who never progress out of this phase.
The most humorous of all phases is the undressing phase. I knew a little girl at church who went through this phase. Clothes just didn’t feel good to her. Her mother would dress her, and five minutes later she’d be out of her clothes again. At home, this wasn’t so bad. She’d keep on a diaper, so she wasn’t totally naked, but an eighteen month old with no clothes on raises eyebrows in public. When the little girl managed to strip during church one Sunday, our pastor laughingly dubbed her Lady Godiva. The name stuck, even after the mom solved The Phase by buying outfits with buttons down the back. The little girl would squirm every which way trying to reach the buttons as if she were in a straight jacket. Eventually The Phase passed, and she became content to wear clothes.
Four is my absolute favorite age. Four-year-olds still love mommy completely, still follow her around and cuddle her and know she’s right about everything, but they are also potty-trained, can feed themselves, can talk, can play, and can dress themselves. Unfortunately, I haven’t any four-year-olds left. My youngest turned six this week. Six is a sad age to me. The baby fat disappears; the face takes on a mature kid look, the limbs become long and gangly, and the child grows into a new independence of reading and comprehension that help her step away from Mom.
If you’re still in the throes of raising an infant or toddler, don’t wish it by. With all my children beyond babyhood, The Phases are remembered with smiles, which in hindsight makes them seem much more like Milestones.