Terrible 2s. People always say that. As if they’ve never met a three year old in their life.
Walker #3, aka Boo, will be three in less than a week, and it’s already started. I’ve done three’s twice before, but I’m not ready for this. Screaming, crying, throwing himself on the floor. Because I won’t let him have milk right now. I carry Boo out to the couch and gently drop him there. I continue cooking, knowing this will happen four more times at least. “Terrible twos” hath no furry like a three year old who can’t have a glass of milk. Right. Now. If I’ve learned anything from my former three year olds, it’s this: don’t encourage it. (My favorite LOTR quote, “don’t encourage it, Merry.”) Boy needs sleep. Rest. And consistency. He needs to know he can have an opinion, but not a sassy attitude. He needs to know I’ll always love him, but that whining won’t get him any where fast. Except the couch to calm down, maybe.
If you have a three year old, or for that matter, a thirteen year old, love them. Love them endlessly. And tell them “no,” calmly, when you need to. Which may also seem to be endlessly. You’re not crazy. You’re supposed to sound like an eight track. Repeat. Repeat. Calmly, repeatedly, teach them. One doesn’t learn to be kind, patient, or polite in one day. Yeah. So good luck with that. No, seriously. Good luck.
Because, three year olds are like drunk, bipolar, irrational babies who can run faster than a cheetas, who might possibly be stronger than mom, despite being 1/3 your size. So good luck. Keep loving.
In case you wondered how the milk delema ended, Boo has fallen asleep on the couch. Maybe he’ll have some milk when he wakes up. But if he *can have* milk, best bet is, he’ll want water. Here’s to three year olds.