What most often makes Owen cry is when we don’t let him go where he wants to go. He will grab my hand and pull me towards his new spot of choice, which at the moment happens to be in the basement standing in front of Sean’s work bench. Before this it was the kitchen sink, and before that the attic. Now that we have had one or two warmer days, in which he spent time outside, he is beginning to add the back or front doors to his tugging repertoire.
The coveted spot in front of Dad's tool bench.
And it must indeed be frustrating to have to rely on the permission of others to do what strikes your fancy. So I do sympathize. (Although I also sympathize with me, because really, Owen, sometimes Mommy wants to SIT for a second on the weekend, and not be dragged from room to room by a tiny tyrant!)
And then of course there is the general weekday witching hours from 5-7, which I join at 6:15-ish; and pretty much everything then makes Owen fuss, from putting him in the highchair, to taking him out of the highchair, to not letting him throw his food on the floor or overturn his cup, etc. etc. It is all a fight, which I believe is also known as The Terrible Twos.
Owen checking to make sure I am following him.
In the meantime, I am getting quite good at keeping my grasp on a 27 pound toddler as he writhes and kicks and screams.