three

 As you know by now we are three, we are a family. Three being the operative word here. Our dear sweet little angel has turned 3. This was not the age I had feared, two is what everyone talked about. Ah, but than you hear the other parents speak of three and oh, just wait! Great. Let me tell you, they're not lying. Three is torture. My dear sweet little angel has turned into a wild thing that would make Maurice Sendak's creations seem tame. I feel he is truly the "wildest thing of all". There is no rhyme or reason with this age, nothing feels clear. My head feels as muddled as a good old fashioned as I try to make sense of tiny tirades over power struggles. Um, aren't I the boss here? Good Lord, I end up feeling like I've been tossed about by a large wave and thrown onto the beach. I try to ignore, not give in to it, but he's always right there letting you know his discontent. On the surreal flip side, the other sweet extreme makes those terrible moments worth it. The behavior is the polar opposite. You think, why was I so upset? How could my sweet boy ever make me crazy? Yeah right, watch out because it will be back and right at bedtime which is always fun, not. Wrestling matches over getting into pj's can lead to one well placed kick and daddy is bent over silently swearing in pain. "Oh sorry dada, me kiss your booboo?" No, not necessary says my husband grimacing, just please go to sleep. Three books later we stare at that sleeping child and think, this ain't so bad. Good night world.