I crouched in front of my daughter before leaving for work. “Ekimo kiss,” she announced, rubbing her nose back and forth vigorously against mine. “Buffly kiss,” she requested, offering her cheek for me to bat my eyelashes against. “We always love each other,” she reminded me. I wanted to eat her up. She had just turned three years old, and she was adorable, delightful, and undeniably edible. Of course, we all know that’s not the full picture …
Most veteran parents can attest to the fact that the “Terrible Twos” is an urban parenting myth—worse than that, it’s actually kind of a cruel trick. First time parents are flabbergasted by their toddler’s unwillingness to cooperate, intense requests with limited language skills, difficulty coping with disappointment, and proclivities for wearing the same filthy Elsa shirt day in and day out. They’ve bought in to the propaganda: their two-year-old is indeed terrible.
And then, as they near age three, could it be … ? Their child’s behavior has actually grown worse?
All of a sudden, their preschooler has armed him or herself with an arsenal of new vocabulary words with which to sling at Mommy in a fit of rage. They are unpredictable, demanding, and fortheloveofgod, do they ever shut up?
If your two-year-old was terrible, this person in front of you kind of actually sucks.
My toddler turned three today, and I’ll admit—I was a bit melancholy. It’s hard for me to accept that her babyhood has ended, but even more than that? I know what’s coming.
She was my second child, so I knew to savor the entire year she spent as a two-year-old. Snuggling, babbling adorably, rocking nicely at bedtime each night and then quickly falling asleep, stringing together longer and longer sentences each day, taking two-three hour naps every single day. I knew it would soon be replaced by loud, disturbing meltdowns whose causes would be varying, befuddling, and absolutely unforeseeable. There may even be the aggressive blowing-out-of-snot from one’s nostrils that had become a frequent reaction to disappointment for my firstborn.
Sure enough, my youngest child had become a contrarian, a master negotiator, a bedtime-delayer, a nap-refuser, and a vitamin thief in the weeks approaching her third birthday. I pined for the days when I would tuck her in with a kiss, close the door, and not hear from her for 12 hours. These days, after rocking, lullabies, and a squirmy, protest-filled tuck-in, my oldest daughter and I are usually interrupted mid-Ramona-and-Her-Father paragraph within minutes. The sippy cup wasn’t full enough. Night-night bunny wasn’t cold enough (WTF. Don’t even ask.), she wanted a blanket underneath her, her legs hurt, could she please get some “T.I.D” in the morning (she apparently thinks spelling words that aren’t actually words makes her sound authoritative), and other such ridiculousness.
A few nights ago, I heard her jabbering and banging the wall half an hour after I’d tucked her in; when I barged into her room with irritation, I found her standing amidst her blankets with her hands on the wall and Scotch tape in her hands and inexplicably in her hair. Her eyes widened when she saw me.
“What are you doing?” I pressed her.
“Nussing!” she chirped pleasantly.
“It doesn’t look like nothing,” I replied with the sinking realization that I had become a walking cliché straight out of the “Shit Parents Say” handbook. All thanks to my not-even-three-(how-the-hell-will-we-survive-this-next-year?) year-old.
She had become a walking tornado, literally poking holes in every piece of paper she could find, scrawling all over her big sister’s math homework (I mean, to be fair, she was super excited she had mastered the “pincher (pincer) grip” and just wanted to practice), staring purposefully at me before running a magic marker over the kitchen table, hiding behind chairs at bedtime, collapsing into a limp pile and loudly lamenting that “her legs wouldn’t work” any time we faced a daily transition, and exploding with indignation whenever it was time for a nap. (And, um, she also occasionally says “dammit” when frustrated. Full disclosure.)
And then of course sometimes three-year-olds are wonderful (People will say mean things to me if I don’t at least mention that). The other day my daughter and I spent a harmonious morning together, chatting merrily in the car, enjoying each other’s company; she charmed every stranger she came into contact with with her outgoing banter and winning smile. She took a two-and-a-half hour nap that day; her imagination was out in full force as she and her big sister had adventures in the family room. She snuggled into me when I rocked her at night. It was fantastic.
She can be totally awesome.
The next day, she spent a 20-minute car ride crying incessantly and whining, as though channeling “Pat” from Saturday Night Live, about the following unacceptable conditions:
- Her pants were long. (Dude, they were size 24 months. High waters, at best.)
- The traffic light was the wrong color.
- That lady had too many dogs.
- I was singing along to the music.
- She didn’t see the schoolbus.
- She didn’t get to wave goodbye to the firetruck.
- Her fingers were “so small.”
Most of us know it’s true: The Terrible Twos have nothing on Three. But for the love of God, when another parent tells you that they are having a tough time with their two-year-old, please refrain from informing them that three years old is so, so much worse. That would result in some justifiable face-punching. While it may be true, nobody likes the bearer of bad news, and plus, you sort of sound like a know-it-all asshat when you tell people that things get worse. (I can’t say I’ve never been guilty of that one. It’s somehow sort of satisfying to pour a handful of glitter-speckled lice on the head of an unsuspecting new parent. Wait, did I just say that?)
So parents of three-year-olds, let’s make a deal. We’ll help each other wade through the murky, whiny, irrational waters of Three Years Old, but let’s not spoil things for the freshmen. Let them discover on their own that they had it easy back in the day—they’ll find out soon enough.
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OMG – I’d forgotten about Pat…yes – my six year old totally channels him…I mean her…I mean…
Ha! A total classic, right? 🙂
My youngest turned three Saturday. Mine is a boy though, and that makes a difference. He whines and demands and fusses, but I can only be irritated with him for a minute because he is smiling the next second. He is very easy. My oldest (a girl) did all the same shit, only with an agenda to make me cry I think. It worked. Loved your post.
Maybe boys are better three year olds? Hmm… actually, I think you just got lucky. I know a whole bunch of extremely challenging three-year-old boys. 😀
It’s true. It makes a difference if it’s a boy or girl. I see all the same things happening in my 3-year- old granddaughter that did with my daughter, but my son was different. He’d put his fist through the wall and turn around crying and say he was sorry. Girls will hold a grudge for weeks. It doesn’t change even as they get older.
I feel you. My youngest is almost three so close enough. We just moved him to a big bed. I’m afraid of his freedom to be quite honest.
We STILL have Sophie in a crib! She has no interest in a big girl bed, and frankly, neither do I!
Three with my daughter was tough!!!! Didn’t help that her baby brother was born just 6 weeks before her third birthday. Man, did she make me pay. Little man’s period as a 3 year-old went much better. Hmm…
I cannot imagine that, Allie! You are a hero! 🙂
Hilarious and all so true! “Glitter speckled lice” is horribly genius 🙂
I feel like an asshat (another gem) though for not fully appreciating two. I have no excuse since he’s my second, but maybe I just thought he was easier so three would be easier… Ah not true!
I almost *almost* want anither kid so I can enjoy those sweet early years again. Sigh.
-Dana
Oh, Dana… me, too. Sigh. Me, too. xo
You know, my daughter is so…atypical…that we never really experienced defiance. She is a “good girl” (in her own words). So, the twos came as a surprise to us with my son. What? You defy me? You pitch fits? And now my daughter seems to have learned from him. Or her classmates. The first week of school this year, she responded with a simple “no” when I told her to come to the dinner table. Jaw on the floor. Now I’m really dreading the the threes!
Isn’t it funny how different each kid is?? Maybe my second will be easier at three than her big sis? Maybe??? 😉
granddaughters who are 3 are great. all the good times and send them home at the end of the day……
Well, isn’t that the truth? 🙂
You need to know that funniest parenting blog post of the year award goes to you for this post. Sure, it’s just an award from me, a lowly blogger without kids, but that should make it an even more coveted award. I don’t have kids, and this had me laughing my ass off.
Well done.
And good luck.
That is the best compliment ever, especially coming from you, my friend. xoxoxo
My youngest turns 3 in December. And, his crazy is already rearing its ugly head. He spent the majority of today crying about a wide array of things. I offered him 200 things that he refused (apparently breakfast foods are the only acceptable thing today) and he now is capable of picking fights with his brother all. day. long. So, yes, it’s going to be a long year. I hope I don’t wish it away. He’s my baby too, so I try to savor every moment I can, but it’s still going to be a long year ahead. 🙂
YES!! I want to savor every moment, too, but man… It’ll be a challenge!
My oldest was a horrific three year old. Nuff said.
My 2 year old now is angelic, so I know, I KNOW, what’s coming. *gulp*
Maybe not!! I think you have some good parenting karma coming your way, mama! xo
Holy cow! At every stage, I have felt that my little man was tougher than the average kid and I keep hoping for it to get better. The twos were difficult for us, but now that he’s nearing three, I think I’m going to lose my mind. Just today we had a play date with another boy his same age, the one he sees every week and had gotten really good at playing and sharing with. This morning, the two of them fought over EVERY. SINGLE. TOY. So much fighting. So much whining. And the crocodile tears — oy. Thank goodness it was a short play date today, but I think I’ve got a loooong year ahead of me. :-\
Cheers to many Crappy Hours together to survive Three!
Her pants were long.
That lady had too many dogs.
Her fingers were “so small.”
BAHAHAHAA! I can so relate. We all can, can’t we? And oh man, my kids hate it when I sing! Dang it! You’d better believe it’s showtune singalong time when I have the car to myself!
I love your posts. Glad to be here again.
Brittany
Aw, thanks, Brittany. Yep, sadly, I think we can all relate!
Mine is turning three next month and he already thinks he rules the world. He rules the house at least!
Glitter-speckled lice? OMG hahahah. That got a huge laugh out loud laugh from me – not like the mental LOL but a for real laugh. Awesome (and totally true). Three really is worse though. And how awesome is it that I got to IRL witness the “but she’s MY sister” because our kids were playing together! While we had wine and bonding!! I won’t squee on your blog – wait. I just did. Should I do it again? xxoo
Yes, let’s do it together: SQUEE!!! xo Miss you.
Oh my goodness! I just found you through Jessica Smock and HerStories and this has made my day. My girls are now 11 and 8 but this piece just brought me right back. My oldest in particular had a third year that I doubted I would survive. My favorite was her elaborate bed time routine that if not executed to perfection resulted in epic meltdowns. We had to say good night to every single lovey on her bed in just the right order including a plastic yellow shovel. Before having children, I never thought of “Good Night Yellow Shovel” as being a phrase I would say every night for a year!
Happy birthday to your daughter! I think I have playmate for her, though that might be too dangerous. Love that she spells fake words to sound authoritative. That’s awesome.
“People will say mean things to me if I don’t at least mention that.”
He, he, he 🙂
My third is about to turn three- here comes the fun!
Normally, 4 is a magic number for us. Of course, though, baby #3 is taking an awful long time to get there. 3 is rough. Really rough. Thankfully they’re cute.
There’s no such thing as terrible two’s, it’s just terrible! My teen, tween, and young son are all proof that it never ends. Just morphs and grows right along with them. Haha
This is exactly what I am going through with my 3yo right now! And the tantrums, oh my God the tantrums. And then she starts calling me sweetheart, then I melt and I love her again. Pfft.
YES YES YES!!!! Damn I love you Stephanie!! You nailed it!!! This is classic parenting of two and three year olds right here. NAILED it girl!
Hang on… you know how it goes! 😉
Yes, yes, a thousand times yes! My three year old was so sweet at 2. He was cooperative and gentle and helped pick up. NOW he’s all No, No , No, and sassy and has a mind of his own (how dare he!). And no, he is never quiet. In fact, he has started barking and squeaking at me – WTH? But, there are still those lovely, snuggly times that, yes, I want to eat him up.
Oh YES! God bless you. My daughter turned 3 over the summer and has been a holy terror. You say things like “the bunny wasn’t cold enough” and no explanation needed–this is the kind of stuff that rocks our world with waves of screaming tantrums and Mommy passing out every night in sheer exhaustion. Thanks for helping it feel a bit more normal.
OMG, there is so much I just love about this! Can Sophie make vitamin stealing appealing to my kids?
I love another observation you’ve made here which I think is brilliant and deserves more attention, the fact that the terrible twos is a total urban myth! So true! This made me think of “morning sickness” you know, the supposedly limited amount of time we spend puking as opposed to enjoying and basking in our pregnancy glow. Yeah right. See where I’m going with this? This was the perfect post to read on my lunch break. Xo
I nominate you for the One Lovely Blog Award! Your posts make me laugh and I enjoy reading them. If you choose to accept, you can read the rules here: http://www.endearinglywacko.com/blog/pretty-sure-im-going-to-oslo