We have arrived.

I thought I had at least another year. But apparently 1 is the new 2. Or maybe it's just that the recent tantrums one cute, but strong-headed little boy have been throwing will in fact get worse when he turns 2. The only thing that will make his tantrums worse is if/when he starts inflicting pain on himself (i.e. banging of the head on the floor). Maybe I still have another year until that happens. I strongly doubt it.

In reality his tantrums don't really last very long, although I'm already getting looks from people when he decides he doesn't like what I'm making him do (or not letting him do most of the time). And they tend to be the worst when he's tired or hungry. So I can't really be upset at my 1 year old because I get crabby too when I'm hungry and/or tired.

I just don't know where my sweet little, always content, I-don't-care-if-you-take-that-dangerous-thing-away-from-me-I'll-just-play-with-something-else baby went. I'm quickly learning that motherhood never really gets easy. I'm guilty of thinking, "I can't wait until Blake can do this." Or "It will be so nice when Blake can _______". While certain things may get easier, life is never really going to be easy again. Yes, it will be nice when Blake can use the bathroom on his own and tie his shoes, but at that age he'll have an opinion AND words to express it.

So I guess it's on me to take these tantrums in stride. One day I'll wish Blake was 1 year old and throwing tantrums instead of asking me if he can drive to a movie with his friends.

Ya, I'll take the tantrums.