My son is an anarchist. It’s not really his fault, since all toddlers are anarchists. But it’s just a stage he’s going through. I hope.
Maybe they’re not anarchists in the true sense of the word, since they aren’t so much about politics or even abolishing or ignoring rules; they don’t exactly grasp the concept of rules, so it might be a little unfair to label them that way. But it’s clear that they hate rules or boundaries of any kind, even if they can’t articulate why.
Regardless, living with an anarchist is hard work. And whether my son is technically an anarchist or just behaves like one, the end result is essentially the same: CHAOS.
My son doesn’t so much play with his toys as he picks them up, one by one, and strews them across the apartment. He throws balls left and right. He takes the plastic hammer belonging to one toy and smashes it against other, non-related toys, including adult toys like our expensive TV or laptops. His interaction with the oversize LEGO we got him amounts to little more than him picking up the bag and emptying them all over the floor. And then not touching them for the next three hours.
I’ve started calling my home “Operation Mayhem.”
Toddlers also love to provoke.
I’ve written before about my son’s tendency to taunt us by ALMOST climbing the stairs and ALMOST pulling out a plug and ALMOST bashing the remote against the TV screen. My son doesn’t much care about plugs, or going upstairs, or pushing the TV over. He doesn’t care about much of anything except Elmo and his lovey. He only wants to see the look on our faces when he provokes us.
He doesn’t actually want to push the TV over, he just wants to watch us panic as he puts his hand on the screen. Did I mention he has taken to making gagging/choking sounds while eating, just so he can enjoy our panic? Some babies just want to watch the world burn.
Toddlers are crazy.
Maniacal laughter is a common sound in our living room, as Detective Munch tests his limits and explores his abilities and tries to see what will happen when he drops a cellphone into the toilet. Discipline is a game to him; he responds to our displeasure and our scolding by cackling and running away in glee.
Such unadulterated apathy would be terrifying if it weren’t so cute! Unfortunately, HE KNOWS THIS.
Good-looking people get away with just about anything they want, give or take a Ted Bundy or two. And since most babies are born cute (not all, sorry Gracie Bell) AND have the benefit of either real or feigned innocence, they are primed, from the start, to dominate society. Unfortunately for them, they also can’t speak, use the toilet or feed themselves. So until scientists engineer a super-smart baby that can leverage its natural cuteness to take over the world, their only resort is anarchy.
And it’s making my life miserable.