The Deposed Toddler: The Arrival of the New Baby

At the best of times the toddler is vastly underrated.  With over-sized heads, waddling gate, and a babbling brook of utterances, evolution has unleashed an adorable yet dangerous version of gangsters in diapers. Employing high octane tantrums of seismic proportions and imperious demands for food, drink, and attention, there is very little that a persevering toddler cannot make happen.

Physical development leads to changes in the balance of power. The ability to accelerate from a domineering swagger to near Olympic speeds on chubby little legs that far outstrip this Baba’s abilities to overtake, is an unforeseen glitch in the previously successful method of subduing recalcitrant charges. 

Diaper changing becomes a martial art where writhing, kicking victims must be subdued with measured strength that, while getting the job done, prevents broken bones and poop-splattered furniture. The potty, a curious piece of furniture the toddler is encouraged to pee or poop on, remains a poor alternative to these buckin’ bronco sessions on the change table.  

Previously thrilled with all forms of story-telling and nap-time lullabies, the toddler becomes a discerning bibliophile, loudly rejecting literature on the basis of book color, font size, illustration style, or species examined; or rejecting stories not associated with Buster or fishing, or lullabies not based on the moon.

Lunch, formerly a delightful and civilized interlude (as long as the general categories of noodle and peas were met) disassembles into fork-waving demands quelled only by one particular shape of pasta, one brand of ravioli, and one soup can label. Like irate gastronomes stranded at a country truck stop, they vent their displeasure with all the emotion of a Shakespearean tragedy – surely the source of future teenage angst. A risk this Baba is willing to take.  Menus remain standard despite the finickitiness of diners.

Previous methods of communication based on subtle body language, single syllables, eye contact, and soothing rocking are replaced by stream-of-consciousness soliloquys featuring randomly placed consonants and baffling syntax that, if not understood immediately, are repeated at increasing decibel levels till demands are met. Vocabulary explodes, threatening the effectiveness of the simple military commands that have served this Baba so well.  Logic and reason rear their ugly heads as the infernal questions of Why? and How come? follow each and every statement.

Nap time, formerly a sacred ritual, is similarly affected.  After one blessed moment with eyes closed the logical toddler surfaces to declare “Did it!”  Sweetly tentative requests are replaced by an imperiousness befitting a Tzar or Tzarina. Whereas the sweet babbling of ba-ba-ba-ba was previously music to the ears, now the air cracks with commands – most often beginning with BABA!!!.  Commands that must be softened by tiresome training in Magic Words, the rules of which are crystal clear but form the basis of a rapidly building resistance to correction of any kind.  

The toddler has the keys to the kingdom and the world is its oyster.

Enter The New Baby. 

Without their knowledge or permission the toddler returns from a sleepover at Baba’s to find that a coup d’etat has occurred; a fall from grace that topples him or her from their position as Head of State and Master of the Universe.  

The only preparation for this world-changing event has been an inordinate attention paid to mummy’s watermelon and the provision of a plastic baby doll that bears no resemblance to the shrieking, steaming, pile of red, wrinkly skin attached permanently to breasts formerly the personal property of said toddler. 

After an initial period of shock, careful evaluation of the situation confirms the fait accompli and the beginning of the 5 Step Program of denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance begins; the length of which varies from days to decades.   

Clearly the obvious evolutionary response is to remove the threat.  However, preliminary forays in this direction are met with a surprising degree of disapproval and threats of banishment. The unkindest cut of all is the clear requirement that the squalling intruder not only be tolerated but adored.  An intelligent toddler rapidly calculates the risk/benefit ratio and sacrifices short-term cooperation for long-term gain. 

The parental strategy of appealing to the Big Boy or Big Girl deep in the toddler psyche is an excellent diversion.  Spectacular oohs and ahhhs accompany the appearance of poop or pee in the potty.  Treats, toys, and praise are used to encourage helpful tasks such as fetching diapers, tidying up, and helping with baby care.  All excellent strategies that will bear fruit.

Or not. 

Sometimes the best defence is a good offence.  A thwarted toddler is a force of nature.  Capable of subterfuge, the toddler may carry out not so subtle sneak attacks masked as clumsiness or inattention.  Admonishments of ‘gentle, gentle!’ simply confirm the effectiveness of the ruse.  Amazing displays of outright defiance and rage carried out in direct eye contact with the authorities, highly creative rampages culminating in eating sunscreen, refusals to nap, and kamikaze attacks on other toddlers are typical responses to the despotic changes forced upon them.

Freud tells us that the toddler is the meeting ground of the Id and the Superego. The Id has no inhibitions; its mantra Me! Me! Me! denies the existence of any other priority.  The Superego represents the should, should, should of human personality and is responsible for inhibitions that divert us from the path of narcissism.  The integration of Id and Superego into the Ego is a long process, one that many never complete. Pity then the conflicted toddler as he or she struggles to find their place as only one of the orbiting planets in the family solar system. 

As Baba I am alternately terrified and amused by the process, at times cheering for the toddler side and perhaps less often for the parental side.   In retrospect, I really don’t remember how we did this in our own little family, but I do know that, like Gloria Gaynor, we survived.