Whoever coined the phrase ‘the terrible twos’ is a lying liar who lies.
Yeah, there were certain phases of ‘two’ that sucked. Moving him to a big boy bed, sucked. Potty training, sucked. Weaning him off a nighttime sippy of milk, sucked (although I admit, we got ourselves into that fine kettle of fish). But NONE of this compares to what fun three has been … so far.
90% of the time, I have the best pre-schooler EVER. He is kind, he is well-mannered, he is funny … he’s a really cool kid. And then all of a sudden *something* will happen. Maybe he’s unable to get the lid off of his favorite color of Play-Doh. Or maybe the puzzle piece just WON’T fit where it needs to go. Or maybe I just simply say ‘no’ to a second cupcake.
And then OMG my sweet Mouse turns into crazy-screaming-tantrum-yelling-throwing fits-person … and I am left standing there, looking bewildered at this … THING … that has swallowed up my sweet boy and thinking to myself, what just happened here?
And it’s not just the temper tantrums. It’s the SASS. It’s the BACK-TALKING. It’s the ARGUING. When the hell did this start? The, ‘NO MOM, YOU’RE MEAN! THAT’S NOT RIGHT! YOU DON’T SAY THAT TO ME!’ or the ‘YOU SAY YES, YOU NOT SAY NO! MOM SAYS YES I CAN!’ … all of this accompanied by blood-curdling screams, flailing arms, crocodile tears, and a red face.
It’s especially fun when you’re in public, and with an infant (who by the way is SUCH a good baby, and I know he’s just sitting there, soaking all this is, waiting to unleash it on me as well … it’s like the Mouse is giving lessons to be used against me tag-team style later in life) … bonus points if you’re WEARING the infant and can’t pick up said screaming pre-schooler to throw him into the car/on his bed/inside a cage …
Okay, we don’t REALLY have a cage, but I don’t think any mom who has dealt with a three year old hasn’t considered it …
I do my best at breathing through the fits. Of talking quietly, keeping myself calm … and then there was a moment last weekend where after 10 minutes of coaxing the Mouse to be good, and to cooperate, and to get into the car so we could leave, I just LOST IT. He was buckled into the car, still screaming and yelling and arguing and I turned around and said, ‘MOUSE. YOU ARE BEING A VERY BAD BOY. YOU WILL BE QUIET FOR THE ENTIRE TRIP HOME.’
OMG he didn’t utter a single word the entire way home. When we pulled into the garage I carried him in the house and put him on the couch and he looked at me and said (in the softest, sweetest little voice), ‘Mom, I’m sorry I was a bad boy. I love you.’
I swear to God, it’s like he does this on purpose. Pushing me to my breaking point, and then making me feel like complete crap for being human and losing my cool. It’s a good thing he’s cute, and that I love him so damn much.
He’s especially cute in PJs and with bedhead. <3