My Love Affair with Sweat Pants and The TERRIBLE twos with lots of capital Ts.

So, oh my sweat pants. How I have missed your cottony comfort in this long, stifling summer season. When I dipped my legs into your cool coziness this morning, I thought I might never have been happier or more comfortable. Please, never leave me again, sweat pants. I need you to wrap me in your mom-jeanish embrace and carry me away from here. Thank you for letting me wear you all day, then sleep in you, then wear you again the next day. You don't judge. You are my true companion. My soul mate. I love you, my sweet sweat pants...you complete me.

I had to express my undying love for all my sweat pants because they are the only things bringing me true joy these days. Not just because regular pants still hurt my c-section incision, but because my two-yr old is trying to kill me. I think Max knows I still have high blood pressure from being pregnant, so he is trying to get me to stroke out.

My husband and I don't believe in spanking, but I might be altering my belief system very soon. Okay, well, not really. I don't have the heart to spank. But, I might swat at him while he runs away from me, laughing at my expense. Ha, ha, mommy. You'll never catch me. Watch while I pee on the living room carpet.

He has been very full of himself lately. The last two weeks have been like hell week in a fraternity and I am the freshman pledge. I'm being hazed. I am being beaten up by a cocky 2-yr old.

I know this is all related to being two years old and having to share the limelight with his new, baby brother.

Here are some of the Terrible Two hurdles we, as parents, have had to clear this week (actually, we pretty much fell over them and collapsed on the floor, panting and bruised):

Last week when I went to pick Max up from preschool, he didn't want to get in the car. I was carrying my newborn, Harry, in one arm, and Max's backpack and lunch box in the other arm. So, no free hands. I tried to coax Max into the car for a couple of minutes until I finally dropped his backpack and lunch box and tried to drag him to the car, to which he responded by throwing himself onto the pavement in the middle of the parking lot behind another mother's SUV WHILE SHE WAS TRYING TO BACK OUT OF THE PARKING LOT.

So, this mother is having to wait to leave with her quiet, obedient child, while I try to scrape my screaming son off the pavement with my one free hand. But, he won't get up. He knows I'm struggling and he is half-fake crying and half-laughing. Meanwhile, his backpack and lunch box are strewn across the parking lot.

I needed both hands to carry him to the car, but I couldn't set my newborn down in the street and I didn't want to leave Max in the middle of the parking lot either in the small chance that someone didn't see him kicking and screaming in the road and ran over him. And the other mothers were starting to stare. One mother gave me a sympathetic smile. I hate those sympathy smiles.

Finally, after Max stood up and then threw himself on the ground again, he stood up for good and I pulled him to the car, buckled him in his seat, put Harry in his car seat, and then sat sweating and panting, embarrassed (although just slightly - I mean, he's a toddler. How much can I really reason with him?), in the driver's seat. Lovely.

Then, this past Tuesday, I really thought Max was going to do me in. Here is just a quick rundown of our day:

he threw his breakfast on the floor,

he threw his snack on the floor, (blood pressure rising)

he dumped out the dog's water dish and as I was running to stop him, I tripped over a step in our house and ripped off half of my toenail (ouch),

he threw his lunch on the floor, (our bull terrier had a feast)

while I was changing his poopy diaper, he reached down, grabbed a handful of poop and wiped it on the sleeve of my CASHMERE sweater that has to be HAND WASHED, (blood pressure rising and who has time to hand wash anything?)

he hit his brother in the head with a drumstick, (baby crying and blood pressure rising)

he threw my bracelet in the toilet while my husband was peeing in it, (blood pressure at all time high and now I have to sanitize my jewelry)

he threw his dinner on the floor, (when is my vacation?)

are you getting the picture? I could go on, but we will all need to get up from the computer at some point.

Also, for the past few weeks, he will only eat five foods: cereal, crackers, applesauce, yogurt and pickles. That is it. Everything else ends up on the wall behind his chair. One morning this week, he had cereal and pickles for breakfast. Grody. And he will only drink milk. No water, no fruit juice, just cow juice (as my grandaddy used to call it).

We have been doing time-outs, although he just looks at us from the corner and laughs. He knows the routine. He will start saying he's sorry while he is still in time-out, and then when his time is up and I am trying to explain to him the reason why he was in time-out, he tries to hurry up and kiss me while I am talking because he knows we always kiss at the end and he wants to get up. No time for your explanations, mommy. Just kiss me and let me outta here.

Ay, yi, yi.

But, in the midst of all the chaos, how can I stay mad at this little face?

It gets me every time. I will always be a sucker for that little face.

Mommy loves you, Max. Always and forever. But I would really appreciate it if you could keep your food on the table. Just a suggestion.