By now, everyone knows the “terrible twos” are a myth.
Okay, maybe not a myth, because I’m sure they suck for many parents, but for many other parents, like Yours Truly, it’s year number three that proves to be far more harrowing.
Mom and Buried and I are now halfway through this “threenage wasteland” and we can’t wait for it to end.
Which, presumably, will be when he turns four, right? Unless there’s already some clever phrase for our son to live up to for that year, like the FOUR-ror Show.
Or maybe something better. Shut up.
I was worried I wouldn’t be able to handle an infant. But my kid’s baby days were a breeze.
By the time he was one-and-a-half and able to walk, things got more interesting, but even then, most of the stress he was causing was indirect. I mean, it wasn’t his fault I shit my pants every time he fell down. (Nor was it his fault he shit his pants every time he fell down.)
When he turned two, we braced ourselves. But he was a happy guy at two! His developing vocabulary was more funny than feisty, and his personality remained laid-back and startlingly adaptive. Tantrums were minimal. We hit his third birthday and we were confident we’d made it.
And then the devil entered his body. No projectile vomit but he did piss on the floor a few times.
The last 6 months have been the toughest part of our parenting journey so far. Which, a moody, defiant toddler who won’t eat his dinner and screams every time you tell him no or don’t let him open the door or want him to go to bed, is pretty small peanuts. But it might as well be a walnut compared to what his so-called terrible twos were like.
So I made a theme song! That’s right, another song parody! Sorry, but this one was just too easy to pass up. There’s also some decent synchronicity at work, as the cover of the album the original song appears on showcases inappropriate urination, and the band itself is known for breaking things. So they have a lot in common with toddlers.
Melody by The Who
Words and lyrics by Dad and Buried
Out here with the feels
I whine about my meals
I don’t know jack about life-living.
I don’t need to fight
But that’s all I like
and I know I will be forgiven.
Wah wah wah wah wah wah
There’s no why
For my nonstop cry
It’s only threenage wasteland
Daddy, take my hand
I SAID YOU TAKE MY HAND
Or I’ll just whine higher
and I won’t get in the stroller
The impetus ain’t clear
It’s not sadness or fear
Just a storm you must weather
Until I get much older
You’re in my threenage wasteland.
So just face it!
And now, to cleanse the palate, the original: