I can understand why two year olds are “terrible.” This is a such a huge time of transition for them. Sam is in a big boy bed now. We’re making friends with the potty, though the relationship hasn’t really gone anywhere yet. He is trying to do many things by himself and encounters a lot of frustration when the things he wants to do outnumber the things he can physically accomplish. He can say so many things “Maggie play inna eckersaucer!” “Dinosaur eat rainins!” “Hewicopter!” But he depends on Mommy and Daddy to pick up on the less tangible things like “I feel bad right now because I’m tired, but I really don’t want to take a nap because it means I’ll have to stop playing with my basketball! WAA!” 
We go on adventures through the neighborhood, visiting Benny the dog at Heidi’s flower shop, examining the wheelbarrows in front of the hardware store, stopping to rest on the stoop of the sausage place and the baseball card shop, joking with the patriarchs at Dunkin Donuts. As often as I can, I try to let him walk on his own instead of using a stroller. This. is. exhausting. He’s very good about staying away from the street, holding Mommy’s hand when we get to a corner, and waiting for the light to change so we can cross. I generally let him choose which way we go, but inevitably it comes time to head home. As soon as he realizes we’re going back, he tries to fight it.
Today, he turned around and took off down the sidewalk at a sprint, laughing and ready to take on the world without Mommy there to hold him back. And then he tripped over his own feet. And my poor little guy who was ten feet tall a second before was just a little two year old with scraped knees and hands and a bump on his forehead that only Mommy kisses can fix. I like being able to fix things with Mommy kisses. But I also think it’ll be fun someday when he can sprint well, and maybe even outrun Mommy. 
