The Devil in Disguise

We've been going out for a walk in the evening. Every walk starts the same way. I'm pushing the baby carriage with Henry, who's wiggling and cooing and smiling. My husband is walking with the toddler. We turn right at the end of the driveway and the toddler turns left and makes a beeline for the manhole cover that's in the middle of the cul-de-sac, three doors down. He likes to sit on the manhole cover and feel the raised metal with his hand. He will sit down there for as long as we'll let him, but since we're going for a walk, we try to herd him along in the same direction we're going.

Herding a toddler who has a specific destination that is 180 degrees in the other direction is not easy. He has more moves than a gymnast and is more flexible than a yoga master. He will suddenly drop to the ground and twist away, at the same time emitting a shrill cry that has the effect of piercing your temple like an ice pick. He'll throw himself backwards against the ground. As parents, our first impulse is to protect him. We don't want him sitting in the middle of the street for obvious reasons. When he is throwing a temper tantrum in the road, we are trying to control and protect him from hurting himself and we are also trying to teach him to be a good citizen. Being a good citizen does not encompass temper tantrums in the middle of the street.

This is new behavior. He wasn't always like this and hopefully he'll return to his former behavior at some point. Better yet, hopefully he'll return to is former behavior sometime soon. In fact, the sooner the better. We know that it's important to remain firm. We know that a child who is unsure of who is in charge is unmoored. We sure as heck don't want him thinking he is.

Every walk ends the same way: I'm pushing the baby carriage with Henry, who has fallen asleep. Nate is carrying the toddler who has his back arched and he's trying to wriggle free- kicking and twisting and pinching and pushing. His face is red and his mouth is open and he's sobbing so hard that either no sound is coming out or else he's making so much noise that the neighbors have started to look in our direction. (They're all hobby gardeners, so they're always outside.)

He's awfully angelic when he's in a good mood. Long lashes and crystal blue eyes, light brown hair and a peaches-and-cream complexion. He smiles easily and laughs heartily and flirts with every stranger he sees. We were at the grocery store the other day when someone asked him how old he was and he responded "terrible two." (I suppose he's been listening to me talking on the phone to the veteran moms I keep on auto dial.) The lady said, "Oh- I can't believe that." I said "Come by our house in time for our evening walk- he looks like an angel but he's a devil in disguise."

We've discussed not taking a walk in the evening simply to avoid the stress. Sometimes we forego it if we're not up to the task or we put him in the stroller where he remains contained. We've come to the conclusion that the lesson is worth the hassle- he'll eventually learn that he doesn't make the rules and that we're in charge and that crying doesn't get him what he wants. At least that's our motivation for continuing the walks. And those are lessons he'll learn one way or another. In the meantime, if anyone wants to watch two parents wrangling an angry toddler, we take our walk right after dinner every evening- just ask our neighbors.