Hell Hath No Fury Like . . . Matt.
Mood:  happy
Topic: Matt
My younger son, as I've mentioned, is a sweet, happy, sunshiny soul. This was evident even in the womb, where he was much quieter than Sam -- so quiet, in fact, that I used to lose sleep worrying whether he was okay in there. And further evidenced by their respective first nights on earth: The night he was born, Sam screamed all night. The night he was born, Matt slept all night. Sam is an intense kid, and I was relieved, on getting acquainted with Matt, that I'd finally managed to produce that most coveted of all parental accomplishments: an Easy Baby.

And he was an Easy Baby. But Matt, now that he is walking well and is starting to talk, is a baby no more. Matt is a toddler. An easy toddler? Oh yes. Matt is a sweet little ray of sunshine and happiness.

Until, that is, you thwart his considerable will. Then he turns into Attila the Hun with an anger management problem.

He has taken to walking alone with such fervency, such singleminded dedication, that nothing will do but that he must walk alone everywhere. In busy parking lots. Along steep inclines and small waterways. In crowded stores. Everywhere, in short, that a guy less than three feet tall should not be walking alone. And if I refuse to put him down to walk, or pick him up once he's started, he will struggle furiously and howl with the purest rage and indignation I have ever heard, until people turn around and give me piercing looks like Why are you beating that adorable little child?

Nor, when he walks, will he be guided by any outside force. At the park yesterday, as Matt marched around, he got too close to the edge of the duck pond. I, who was dutifully following him around, took his hand to guide him away. His response? He howled with rage, sank his teeth into the back of my hand, plopped down onto his butt, and screamed bloody murder until I backed off. It was a difficult outing for both of us. Certainly, I wanted to make my little darling happy and let him walk freely in the great outdoors, but I didn't want him marching into the duck pond. Or off the side of the hill. So we were at a bit of an impasse.

Finally I found a flat area with no water or other major hazards, and he marched around to his heart's content, until he decided that he'd had enough and I should pick him up. (When Matt decides that I should pick him up, it's no issue and he doesn't protest; unless, God help me, I don't pick him up. Then it's the indignant rage all over again.)

So I have been blindsided by all this, my Easy Baby blossoming into a toddler with a formidable will and incredible tenacity. Next to him, Sam is a pushover. Who knew? The moral of the story is to never underestimate an Easy Baby, even if he has enormous dimples and a smile that could melt the polar ice caps. Especially if he has enormous dimples and a smile that could melt the polar ice caps. We are a stubborn, strong-willed family, every one of us, but in Matthew I think we have met our match.