The more time I spend with both a baby and a toddler, the more I realize that I prefer infants.
Do not get me wrong. I love Liam. Fully. Desperately. Unconditionally.
But taking care of a baby comes much more naturally to me. It's easy.
Liam is not. He is a lot of work. All of the time.
I struggle to keep up with him. The messes he makes. The path of destruction he so gleefully leaves in his wake.
In the past few days, he has pried off the wood trim from the bottom of the living room window twice with his play tools, emptied a bottle of lotion into the fish tank, and ripped up a book (One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish) and dunked it in the fish tank.
He whines. He yells. He refuses to eat his food.
He is a two year old.
I find myself struggling. Struggling to clean up after him all day long. Struggling to show him patience, and yet I expect it from him.
I whine. And I yell. I refuse to stop and consider that he is still learning. Still learning how to be.
Messes can be cleaned. The house can be straightened. The fish can get new water. We can start over. Again and again. Because that is what it takes to learn.
And then the day is over. We go to sleep, and then awake. Ready to do it all again. Maybe with a little more grace this time around.