I can hardly believe that it has been 20 months since my baby boy came into this world. And I can hardly believe how incredibly different he is than my daughter. In his first 20 months of life, he has taught me how to be a completely different mother than what I am used to being. Let me explain.

My  beautiful little girl is now 5 years old. She is smart, funny, well-rounded, an absolute joy. She was a content baby, rarely cried. She never threw a fit. She never fell out screaming when she was told “no”. She’s always been obedient, smart, understanding. She talked at a very early age. She excelled in pre-school. She is excelling in Kindergarten. She is really a perfect child.

Mothers are not supposed to compare their children. I know this. But how can a mother not compare her children when one is completely different from the other?

My little boy. He has 4 names, but I call him “the boy” or “BB” usually. He has beautiful blonde ringlets on his head, sparkling blue eyes, he likes to swing his arms and dance like rock star to any music he hears. He doesn’t say much, except that he calls everything “this”,  but he is a smart kid. He understands things, he pokes his lip out and tries to turn on his cute charm when he gets in trouble (alot), and he loves trains, trucks, milk, chicken nuggets, and clinging to my legs.

 My sweet baby boy also likes to throw fits. He likes to throw things when he throws these fits. How many times has he gotten so pissed off that he threw his plate across the table, threw his Thomas Trains at his sister’s head, reached around in the grocery buggy and threw canned goods at perfect strangers just because he was mad I wouldn’t let him eat a banana in the store? The boy has a temper.

The boy came into this world mad. He cried a lot more than my daughter did as an infant. He didn’t want to sleep through the night, he wanted to eat constantly and he got real damn edgy when he didn’t get fed when he wanted to get fed (got that from his daddy), and he let me know immediately if he didn’t like something. Content has NEVER been the word used to describe the boy.

My sweet little girl would tag along on 3 hour shopping trips with me to the mall, drink her apple juice, and barely make a noise unless she was talking clearly. She was the definition of content- and for the most part she still is. At 20 months, I believe she could have very well said to me on one of our shopping trips, “Mother, my dear, is the sweater you are considering purchasing made of cashmere?” The boy says, “Uhh, this”.  I can barely make a bank run with him not throwing Cheerios all over the back seat because he is mad he is “restrained”.

He can take one look at Wal-Mart from the parking lot and start screaming and violently kicking his size 6 New Balances because he doesn’t want to go in. (Hmm, I do that, too). He hates restaurants, malls, car seats, any place where he has to sit in a high chair, cart, stroller, seat, etc. He would rather run around the store, intentionally hide from me, and then laugh when he thinks I’m on the verge of killing over from panic. He thinks he’s funny. I think I will keep him at home.

Don’t get me wrong. The boy is really a sweet child. It’s not like he headbutts….well, yes he does. But, it’s not like he is a little monster ALL of the time. How precious he is when he gives me a kiss out of nowhere, when he pats my back while hugging me, how he picks his nose and then puts his snotty little fingers in his mouth. Sometimes I can just look at him and my heart is bursting with joy and love and I just have to scoop him up and kiss all over his fat little cheeks. At other times, the only thing I am doing to his cheeks is pinching them and telling him “no”.

I stated earlier that BB makes me feel like a first time mother. This is because he does so many new things that I never experienced as a mother to my daughter. The girl and I would look on as some poor mother peeled her kicking and screaming child off the restaurant floor. I would pity the woman, thank God my baby girl never did such an embarrassing thing, and then I would make a comment like, “why doesn’t she spank the fire out of him?”

Guess what? Now I am the mother peeling the screaming child off the floor, and as a firm believer of  “spare the rod, spoil the child”, I can tell you that spanking does not always work. Yeah, the boy will have his share of spankings as he gets older-I can just see marker on the wall, a torched piece of furniture, a neon green dye job on a guinea pig, and quite possibly an angry neighbor with a shaved Persian cat in my son’s future, which will require beating his tail until he can’t sit for a week-but spanking a 20 month old does nothing but scare the kid, embarrass the mother, and make the crying reach louder decibels. I really am at a loss here until he is older and actually knows why he is being punished.

I love my boy. I love that he is going to become a successful man, a wonderful husband, a loving father. And I love that I get to nurture him, pray for him, provide for him and watch him grow. I also love-sometimes- that he is teaching me how to be a well-rounded mother. I know how to handle the world’s easiest child and now I am learning how to handle the world’s most strong willed child. 

As I tell him often, “Boy, you better be glad you’re cute.” And he is, isn’t he?