My Little Id

Reputations aside, I’ve always been quite skeptical when it comes to famed historians or theorists of any kind. Sigmund Freud is no exception, but lately I’m beginning to think the old goat was onto something with his “structure of the mind” principle.

As I was cleaning up, yet another mess left my destructive little munchkin, it hit me that my toddler is definitely an Id. The Id as defined by Freud is “the irrational and emotional part of the mind.” He also says that the Id is all about “want, want, want” regardless of consequence, and cares for nothing more than their own gratification, hence toddlers.

When it comes to weaving a tapestry of senseless destruction and devastation, my toddler takes first place, and earns extra marks for creativity. About a month ago Jeff and I decided to take the 2.5 hour daytrip to Vancouver, British Columbia. We were listening to the Curious George soundtrack for the millionth time (by the way, remind me to beat the fuck out of Jack Johnson if I ever see him), and enjoying the plush scenery and sunshine. Jeff had brought along some Cheetos for road munchies and Rachael became very interested in the bright, orange treats. I gave her a few anticipating messy Cheetos fingers. A few minutes later from the backseat I heard a muffled grinding. I looked back to see a smiling Rachael returning my stare. We played this back and forth exchange for at least a half dozen times, then I caught her orange-handed. Rachael was grinding a Cheeto across one of the fabric panels on the inside car door leaving ultra-fine Cheeto shavings everywhere.

Only a fucking toddler would do this! Who else, in their right mind, would look at a Cheeto and think, now is the time to create a colossal mess and I can do this by rubbing a snack food against course fabric. One of my co-workers keeps reassuring me that if I can just harness all of that creativity and energy into something positive, I’ll have a future genius or world leader in my family. The challenge, of course, is to get her from Id-dome to college without giving in to my urge to kill her as I scrub crayon murals off my family room walls at 10:00 at night.

The good news is that Rachael is making some progress. She has learned to say “please” and “thank you” and she’s not too bad when it comes to sharing thanks to daycare. I’ve also adapted to life with an Id. Now when I stroll through Toys ‘R’ Us or any other place with objects of desire for my little Id (which means every place we ever go), my thoughts of “oh this might be cute for her to play with” have been replaced with “how is she going to use this to make a mess or destroy something.” This is another thing they never tell you about in all of those pansy-assed parenting books!

Her ability to take any object, turn it around, and use it as some sort of weapon or victimize it with an existing weapon has me worried that in her two and a half year lifespan she has been exposed to too much violence. However a steady diet of Dora the Explorer and PBS’s Sprout channel shouldn’t be responsible for this level of aggression, should it? Rachael has more of an urge to attack something helpless than the current regime running our country, the difference, of course, is that she is only 2 ½ and can be taught passivity over time, those bastards, however, are too far gone. I suspect she’s also smarter than they are which is horrifying when you think about it.

I’m sure the violent behavior is as signature with an Id as the tendency to strip off her clothing and run around bare-assed naked no matter whom is present. Rachael and I went to a Passover seder a couple of weeks ago, and as with most Jewish things, it started late and ran late. Being the conscientious mom, I brought her jammies, so I could change her before the 30-minute car ride that would lull her to sleep. In one hot minute, she broke away from me and proceeded to run around my friend’s house in nothing but her diapey. Everyone got a kick out of it, including my childfree friends who were hosting the gathering, which only encouraged my little streaker to continue her show. Thankfully, I was able to wrestle her down rodeo-style and stop her from going completely buff.

In the end, we will survive the Id phase, just barely, but we will survive. True I may have more wrinkles, my husband will be completely gray, the dog will have a nervous twitch, and the solid wood table we took so much pride in buying will forever bear the marks of multiple whackings with the business end of the Dora the Explorer spoon, but we will come through this okay, far more unstable and exhausted, but okay…I hope.