“Ha ha ha, those terrible twos,” they said.
A lie. A CRUEL AND CALLOUS LIE.
Sure, you have a two year old and you think, jeez, what happened to this kid. You had an adorable little marshmallow running around gooble-gobbling, and then one day things changed and out of nowhere you had this irritable little creature — like he had sand in the elastic of his diaper always turning him surly. But you think: I only have a year of this. They call this the Terrible Twos, so I just have to weather the storm for one year. One. Year.
The only way through is out, you think.
You breathe a sigh of relief and lay your head down to sleep, assured that This Is Only Temporary.
This is the moment where I light a red road flare in a dark room and when the crimson glow illuminates the space, you see that monstrous toddlers are all around us. Crawling up the walls, hissing. Black cricket eyes hungry for your soul. Little claws tickety-click-clicking on wet stone. Squalling, shrieking, whining. SWARMING.
This is the moment where I tell you that I AM FROM YOUR FUTURE, and that the Terrible Twos are not — I repeat, not — the end. Oh, no, dear parent. I am here to warn you:
The Terrible Twos are only the beginning.
The Terrible Twos are just the chrysalis. The child’s body was just a preparation for an ancient, infernal monkey-demon slumbering in his tiny heart. Now the cocoon has been shed and your very own monkey-demon — who looks a little like you and who is now learning to communicate with its human keepers — is loose in your home.
The Terrible Twos?
These are the Terrible Threes. Er, the Therrible Threes? The Threatening, Thunderous, Thrashing Threes? Maybe the ‘That Used To Be A Human Child But Now It Is An Implacable Monkey-Demon Who Hungers For Chaos” Threes. WHATEVER. I’ve heard them called “Threenagers,” because this age is like a porthole window into the teenage years of the child, but taxonomically that’s false, since three-year-olds are monkey-demons and teenagers are mopey asshole-golems. Jesus, it’s like nobody ever read the D&D Monster Manual. Pssh. Pfft! HFFT.
Doesn’t matter. Point is, you’re going to need help.
I have prepared for you a survival kit.
*hands you survival kit*