Nov 21 2005
Inside the mind of an 18-month-old
You parents out there, you sympathize with me, right? I have an 18 month old baby. Just days ago, she was so sweet and warm that rays of sunshine shot out of her ears and nostrils. Full of slobbery hugs and kisses. Able to charm the dog into giving up her Milkbone (tangent: What is it about little kids that has them eating dog kibble like ravenous fools but turning their nose up at normal people food? Can someone explain that to me?)
If she was my first child, I’m sure there would be a full-scale search for the POD left behind when the body snatchers came down and possessed her. But, no. I’m an experienced mother (which, really, let’s be honest, in this context experienced means ‘worn down and too damn lazy to go searching for the pod’) so I just accept this possession as a matter of routine.
The experts tell us that this change in temperament is normal. The frustration is caused by the child knowing what she wants but being unable to properly communicate it because her speech development has lagged behind her ability to formulate her desires in thought. It’s really no different than the phenomena most of us will experience this Thursday as we are trying to co-exist with our mothers-in-law in the kitchen on Thanksgiving Day. You know, the thoughts and words are formulated clearly in our brains but for the sake of family peace we have to stifle them and smile and admit that, yes, it does appear that our mothers didn’t properly teach us how to peel potatoes or how to baste a turkey. What we really want to do is throw our sippy cups at their heads.
Being an experienced mother of five, I have done a lot of research (that means, I’ve laid lain lied plopped my ass on the sofa and observed a progression of five different 18-month old SCREAMERS over 22 years) and I have some tools that might help some of you who are going through this. It’s a sort of a translation guide, I suppose.
Baby throws sippy cup at your head and screams.
Translation: “Mommy, could you be so kind as to refill my milk for me as I am far too young to open the refrigerator and pour it myself? I’d be so grateful to you for that. Thank you for all you do for me!”
Baby kicks and screams and sticks hands down by her privates during diaper change.
Translation: “Mother, I’m really far too busy to take time out for these annoying diaper changes. Furthermore, it’s downright humiliating that I have no control over my own bowels. Because I am subjected to this horrible procedure multiple times per day, it is my desire to do all I can to thwart your progress in the hopes that you will eventually grow weary of it all and allow me the dignity of sitting, undisturbed, in my own crap.”
Baby throws every item of food you attempt to serve her from the high chair tray and onto the floor.
Translation: “Mommy, the quality of food you serve in this establishment is ATROCIOUS. Look? See? The DOG likes it. What does that tell you? Yes, you are obviously serving me food fit for a dog. I shall reject it all and once you set me free from this straight-jacket of a chair, I shall behave like the dog you think I am and imbibe dog kibble for my dinner.”
On picture day, baby screams, pulls off, and launches the cute headband (that matches the expensive dress) sailing across the studio.
Translation: “Mother, PLEASE! Why must you put those stupid, idiotic headbands around my skull? I don’t see YOU wearing them. I have four older sisters and none of THEM are made to wear such things, either. Really. What is the point? So my hair isn’t yet long. Break out of the societal expectations and allow me to be myself. If you must ‘mark’ my gender in some way, perhaps you could just take a Sharpie and write ’she’s a girl’ on my forehead. At least that won’t squeeze my brain like those annoying elastic headbands do.”
Baby throws herself at the front door, sobbing and crying, repeating the words ‘bye-bye’ over and over, possibly right after some other family member departed through that very door.
Translation: “I’m a prisoner. A prisoner, I tell you. It’s so unfair. What happened to the children’s rights that came out of the industrial revolution? I can hardly reach the door knob plus those blasted grown-ups put a safety device that prevents me from being able to open it. I want out. I need air, sunshine. This house is sucking the LIFE out of me. When I am two, I shall declare my emancipation and hitchhike across the country. THEY CANNOT KEEP ME HERE FOREVER!”
Really, it’s not all that difficult to understand them if you watch Family Guy. I’m convinced that the genius who is Seth MacFarlane has totally nailed the thought process of an 18 month old in the character of Stewie. In fact, I think my little Raena and Stewie look a little bit alike (but I SWEAR I never slept with Peter… I just wouldn’t do that to Lois!) 
