I’m not gonna lie. I’ve been bested by a 3-year-old. She’s whipped me. This tiny, tiny monster walks around my house, masquerading as a cute little girl, but more times a day than I can count she lets her true colors show. A fork just went flying across the room, a meatball covered in sauce just hit the deck, a blood curdling scream came from the bathroom upstairs… And I no longer feel like a human -- I feel like Damage Control. That’s about all I’m here for. There’s not much time for “real” fun, because I’m cleaning up messes or waiting out a tantrum (thrown because I somehow, after five attempts, just cannot get the ponytail right), or too busy saying, “No!” or “You know better than that!” or “What were you thinking?!?!” or “Eat your dinner/Sit down in your chair/We don’t lie down while we’re eating” or “Please stop flashing your vagoona to everyone in the department store!”
So, while I would love to post a blog that is profound and thought-provoking for you, dear readers, I just don’t have the brain power right now. I’m too busy trying to figure out how I’m going to make it through the Nightmare Threes, and wondering if the 4s are any better.
The good news is that I know I’m not alone. One of my favorite things is from comedian Jason Good’s blog entitled 46 Reasons My Three-Year-Old Might be Freaking Out. I relate to so many of them, especially A balloon he got 6 months ago is missing and I gave him the wrong blue crayon. GOD FORBID!!
Here’s my own truncated list of Why My Three-Year-Old Might be Freaking Out…
Her dress doesn’t go all the way down to the ground
Her ponytail isn’t high enough
She didn’t actually want a high ponytail, she wanted a bun, but didn’t know the word for it
I didn’t have the appropriate accoutrements for a bun
The hot dog tastes different
The broccoli has butter on it
The bread has butter on it
The bread is toasted
The bread isn’t toasted
There’s not enough syrup for her waffles
There’s not enough water in the cup
There’s too much water in the cup
She can’t hear Caillou
Caillou is too loud
She wanted cream cheese on her bagel
Not that cream cheese
If I sat here long enough I could come up with tons more, but as I mentioned before, she’s worn me down, and I’m exhausted. So help me, fellow moms – and non-moms, too, because I’ll take all the help I can get – what do I do? Is there a magic wand I can wave to turn my monster back into an angel? Or should I just go ahead and stock up on the booze now?