The plethora of parenting resources—books, blogs, and seasoned parents—primarily prepare you for the early stages of infancy. While no one can ever truly be ready to bring home a delicate newborn, I believed I had adequately armed myself with knowledge about breastfeeding challenges and the art of “rock, paper, scissors” for diaper duty. Yet, there was no forewarning regarding the sheer difficulty of managing a two-year-old, especially one with the speed of a cheetah.
It was only around the time my son reached 18 months that I began to suspect I was nurturing a future Olympic athlete. Every outing required a constant vigilance for potential escape routes, tiny nooks he could dart into, and the perilous distance between the entrance and our vehicle.
Ironically, during his initial sprinting phase, I was heavily pregnant. This made outings increasingly difficult, as I was no longer quick enough to keep up with him. It wasn’t that he was intentionally running away; rather, he was exploring the limits of parks and museums, slipping through spaces that my growing belly couldn’t accommodate.
Things took a turn for the worse after the arrival of his little brother. My son quickly grasped that the cumbersome stroller, which held his sibling, significantly hampered my ability to chase him up flights of stairs. The situation worsened when he discovered the handicap buttons that automatically opened doors.
Oh, dear child, you’re not satisfied with the play area? By all means, hit that button while sprinting backwards, all the while flashing that mischievous grin that pierces my very soul. Feel free to dash straight into the bustling Target parking lot. It’s not like I have a thousand things to worry about. (Insert appropriate emoji here.)
Now, ten months later, my energetic toddler continues to operate at full throttle. He may have outgrown the phase of acting out due to the arrival of a new sibling, but he now runs for no particular reason, ironically chanting “walking feet, walking feet!” The most exhausting part? Despite chasing him endlessly, I have nothing to show for my efforts. Why don’t I have toned legs like Carrie Underwood or sculpted arms akin to Michelle Obama from lugging him around?
I’m grateful for my son’s boundless energy, capable of covering two miles without a backward glance, yet I can’t help but feel utterly fatigued.
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In summary, while the initial stages of parenting may be well-documented, nothing can truly prepare you for the chaos of raising a speedy toddler. Each day is a new adventure, filled with challenges that leave you both tired and grateful.