I think if someone had handed me a two-year old and said, "Here you go, be a mother," I'd most likely have lost my shit at the park last night.
However. You work up to it. It's just as every other mother friend has said.
I remember when Jordan was a few months old, and Maude came to visit with Benjamin, who was about two and a half. He was looking through a magazine, and at every single page - and I mean Every. Single. Page. - he said, "What's that?"
And she replied. Every time. "That's a woman. That's a watch. That's another woman in a blue dress."
You get the picture.
I was all, "How does your head not just melt?"
And she said, "You work up to it."
It's exactly true.
Which is why, last night, when my child was screaming and flailing and fighting - NO GO HOME! NOOOOOOOOO! NO LEAVE PARK! NO DINNER! NOOOOOOOO AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH - I was able to keep my cool.
When he fought and fought, while screaming at top volume, I still managed to strap him into his stroller. He's big and he's strong, and this required some serious effort on my part.
When he took off one shoe and threw it, and then another - PROTEST! I'M SO ANGRY I'M JUST GOING TO...THROW MY SHOES! MY SHOOOOOOOES! WANT MY SHOOOOOESSS - I calmly picked them up, and put them back on his feet.
When he flailed so hard his stroller - the big, BOB jogging stroller - was bouncing up and down, I was able to walk normally, pretending nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Even though the angry contents of the stroller was still screaming.
Nick called just then, and it was good timing, because you can never describe the drama trauma as well later. He heard it loud and clear.
Call me petty; I want credit.
Jordan managed to keep it up full force about half the way home. At which point he agreed that he might like to eat a pretzel.
You work up to it.