We are going through a rough patch in my house.
We are living with a three year old. A three year old boy. Which, in my experience, is infinitely worse than living with a three year old girl.
My oldest son was the perfect baby. He slept through the night from early on, rarely cried and loved to cuddle. He continued to be a pleasure until he turned three…when he sprouted horns and breathed fire whenever he wasn’t granted his every wish. Thankfully, he made it to four years old, and my sweet boy returned, leaving me with a healthy fear of three year olds.
It’s no wonder it took me nearly 11 years to have a second child.
Son number two was a handful right from the beginning. Fiercely independent, full of energy and highly inquisitive, he always kept us on our toes. As three approached, I stressed about how I was going to be able to cope with him. He proved to be a more mischievous and less frightening three year old than his brother was, and I was left thinking that three wasn’t nearly as bad as I remembered it.
A year later we were back in the throws of living with a three year old, only this time it was our only daughter. My little princess was completely spoiled and catered to due to some medical issues, and the fact that she was the only girl on my husband’s side of the family, so she rarely posed a problem to anyone. Why complain when you have everything you want?
Which brings us to our current dilemma. Child #4. Boy #3. The last three year old to be raised by this mama. I should enjoy it. This is the last time I will have a three year old! Instead, I count the seconds until naptime, bedtime…anytime that I can have a break from his reign. He is a vivacious child. He laughs loud, screams louder, and makes his presence known at all times. He brings me all kinds of joy and entertainment, and also raises my blood pressure to what have to be dangerous levels.
He is not a morning person. Mornings are guaranteed to be stressful.
He gets up and cries because one of his siblings is having the cereal he wants. He wants whatever cereal anyone else is having, and he wants to be the only person having it.
He screams because someone is sitting in his seat. His seat is whatever one someone else’s butt is on.
He rages when I remove his wet diaper, because he knows I won’t put another one on until his nap, and that is a long time to hold your bladder and bowels, yet he manages every day.
He makes demands and can’t believe it when they aren’t met before he is finished asking.
He has a complete meltdown if I even consider leaving the house without him. God forbid I run to the post office or the grocery store without him, but if I take him, he refuses to walk and I end up carrying all 30 lbs of him everywhere, and I am not a strong person. He’s heavy. I put him down, he screams and throws himself on the ground. It’s a great show, when you’re not one of the leading characters.
I need to take up meditation. Or get some medication.
We have NINE months of this left, unless he is actually condensing a whole year of torment into just a few months, which could explain the degree of which he is doing this three year old thing. I know someday this will be a distant memory that I laugh about, but right now … it is all encompassing. I don’t have the energy I had 18 years ago when I went through it the first time.
Are you living with a three year old terror? Tell me your stories so I don’t feel so alone.