It’s Not You…It’s 3

Age 3 May Kill Me!

I write this because in speaking to mothers of 3 year old children – it seems we all think that our case is different – that somehow we are the only ones dealing with the tyranny of a 3 year old.  Well – you are not alone.  More of us need to share the struggle.  In fact, most of us think that we, as mothers and parents, are doing something wrong – which is why we are not sharing.  I’m here to tell you – its not you…its 3.

So here is my struggle – to share – in the hopes you feel better about yours.

This past weekend my son brought me to tears twice in dealing with his chaos – now, maybe I should be stronger, maybe I was hormonal, maybe my past week at work was less than ideal, maybe we’d just returned from a vacation and getting back into a routine was not easy for any of us.

Either way – I cried.

In fact this stage of toddler fiefdom is either going to make me stronger or kill me and right now I am leaning towards the latter.  How can he be so sweet – telling everyone how much he loves them – how we are his best friends – showering us in kisses and then without a moment’s notice turn totally rotten?

In my case, my 3 year old son has learned to fight with his 16-month old sister (not to make her seem innocent – she is trying to make her way in the world right now too) – he tries to make her mad.  He takes her blanket, shows off when he gets something she doesn’t (even if it just water in a different cup) and to top it all off – he keeps himself within arm’s reach of her so he can purposefully be hit when she decides to strike with action – since she cannot battle with words (and let’s face it her little arms only require him to take one step away to be out of reach).  He does this of course so that he can scream bloody murder when she makes contact.

Next comes what I will call the “voice of mommy” role he’s accepted.  He believes that his job (in life) is to enforce everything I say – in a more emphatic and aggressive way.  If I ask my daughter to stop using an outside voice – my little enforcer is in her face screaming “STOP USING YOUR OUTSIDE VOICE”.  If I ask her to eat her corn – in steps the enforcer to point emphatically at the corn & tell her to eat.  You get the point.  I tried to bargain with him, I told him that he did such a good job as the enforcer that I have promoted him – from being in charge of the “No(s)” – to being in charge of the “fun”.  That went over well – he stomped up & down like Rumpelstiltskin shouting “I don’t want to be in charge of the fun!” (Obviously!)

Lastly, is the pack-mule status I have entered into where I find myself covered in kid.  Literally.  My 16-month old is teething molars and needs cuddles – my 3 year old needs attention – so they both hang on me – hang off of me – jockey for the most space & position.  Several times I have succumbed & carried both of them (42lbs & 26lbs) in order to keep them from making the biblical decision to split me in half.

By Saturday night my 3 year old has called me “mean” more times than I can count (little does he know I’ve been called worse – but let’s face it – it hurt – these times have not been bringing out my usual Mary Poppins way of doing things – I feel guilty – I know I can do better, even if he can’t.)  As we walked in the door from a very trying car ride home – that landed him in time-out – he proclaimed from the 3^rd step on the stairs “Mommy you’ve been moved to Santa’s bad list” (I bit my tongue so as to not to not lash back with – “OH YA – well Santa doesn’t exist!!)

It is in this moment that I remembered 212 degrees.

Not 211– but 212 degrees specifically – because it is the temperature that water boils.  Turn water down just one degree and it will not boil.  We (collectively) needed to turn our water down just one degree.  I asked my husband to take my daughter for a bath & I asked my pouty son to take my hand to come look at the stars with me.

We walked down the neighborhood about a block & back to our driveway absorbing the cool darkness and silence before either of us said anything.  Then we sat in the driveway.

I asked him if he was upset that he had to share mommy & daddy.  His lip began quivering and he burst into tears (my heart broke a little because I knew how hard it must be to not be the only anymore).

So in that moment I told him  a secret – a secret that was so special about him – something no one else could claim.

During the next 5-minutes I explained that he was the 1^st person to make me a mommy…that before him I was never a mommy and without him I would not have been one.  And then I thanked him.  I thanked him for the love.  For all of the love – and the endless energy.  I told him how hard I thought being 3 was and told him how much help he is when he feeds the dog (his one consistent chore).  He thanked me for looking at the stars (even though it was way past his bedtime).

This fairy dust moment did not make the 3s go away…in fact we woke up on Sunday morning and I was quickly reminded that we were still in the toddler tyranny.  However, it did turn the temperature down a notch – mainly for me.  I took it to 211 so that I could better deal with him, life…everything.

Mother’s of 3-year-olds unite!  You are not alone – it does end (Right? Someone please tell me that it does end)!

Do you have any age 3 stories to share?  Are your littles just as rotten at times?

#thisismyauthenticmotherhood