Two Terrible

Today was one of those days.
Those Mommy days.
You know, the days that should come with a warning label, perfect for one of those eighties after school specials about the dangers of unplanned teen pregnancy...
I totally brought it on myself too.
This afternoon I was chatting with a co-worker. I caught her eyeing my belly. I knew she wanted to ask but wasn't quite sure...
"I'm four months pregnant." I chimed in. Relieved, she congratulated me.
She, a mom to a 20 year old, began unintentionally reminiscing about her own pregnancy days - how big she got, how hairy she got, how tired she was, how many stretch marks she got... you know, the whisperings of the secret pregnant women society.
"How old is your son?" she asked.
"Two." I said.
"Uh oh." She shook her head and laughed to herself. "That's going to be tough."
"No..." I began - and with a vision of my sweet little chubby cheek boy in my head, I uttered the stupidest, most annoying, delusional three words a mom can ever utter aloud:
"He is perfect."

Her head snapped back in disbelief, "Really?" she questioned. "My son was HORR-ible when he was two." She said as if remembering a vivid nightmare.
As soon as those words bounced off my lips, I want to suck them back in and swallow them whole.
I sounded like one of those moms.
You know the ones. Those moms whose kids are taking SAT prep classes at five, who interview for pre-school gestationally...
Needless to say, the conversation didn't last much longer.
And boy did the universe hit back...

Isaiah threw BACK to BACK tantrums from the moment I picked him up from daycare to the moment the spouse carried him kicking and screaming to bed.

"Isaiah, it's time to go home."
And despite running to me with open arms, he yelled "I DON'T WANT TO GO HOME."
"Isaiah, its time to get in the car."
"NO MORE CAR"
"Isaiah, no taking off your seat belt."
"ALL DONE SEATBELT."
"Isaiah, it's time to to eat ravioli and spinach"
"I WANT CHICKEN NUGGETS."
"Isaiah, do you have to use the potty?"
"NNNNNNNNNNOOOOO, POTTY."
"Isaiah, it's time to turn off the TV."
"WANT TO WATCH YO GABBA GABBA."
"Isaiah, it's time to sleep."
"WANT TO READ GOOD NIGHT MOON."
"Isaiah, first sleep and then we can wake up and have a wonderful day tomorrow."
"NO WANT TO GO TO SLEEPPPPPPP."

This last one bounced off the walls as the spouse carried Isaiah into his room screaming his head off - which he continued to do for TWENTY MINUTE increments (in between which we took turns trying to negotiate him into sleep - a side effect of having lawyers for parents) until he FINALLY fell asleep an hour past his bedtime. I swear I heard him screaming a faint, "NOOOOOOOO... " as his eyes finally closed.

So, I get it. No kid is perfect. Isaiah is funny, adorable, smart and damn near close. But, he is also just as Two-Terrible as the two-iest of any two year old. I know.

You think if I find my co-worker tomorrow and orally retract my earlier statement it will put things back in balance?