“What if he acts like a brat forever?” my husband laments as we drive home with our thrashing, wailing three-year-old buckled in the backseat.
“I’m sure it’s just a phase,” I reassure myself, though I feel a little uneasy. This is our first child, and I can’t shake the feeling that maybe this isn’t just a phase. After all, with no other experiences to draw from, how could I know if he would continue to be the tantrum-throwing, angry little monster he had morphed into over the last month?
What had changed in that time? Where did our sweet little baby go? We had navigated the so-called “terrible twos” with relative ease. Wasn’t it supposed to be smooth sailing until adolescence? Clearly, the genius who coined that term must have taken a vacation during his child’s third year.
Sure, my darling boy had his moments at two, but nothing prepared me for the chaos that erupted just a week after his third birthday.
After a rushed trip to Target with a moody toddler in tow, we found ourselves in a painfully slow-moving checkout line. Leo was growing more and more restless, squirming and whining, pleading to be released from what must have felt like a prison to him. I denied his requests, convinced that we were almost through the line, but my repeated refusals only fueled his fury.
As the cashier began scanning our items, the floodgates opened, and a torrent of profanity erupted from my three-year-old. “MOTHER TRUCKER! MOTHER TRUCKER! MOTHER TRUCKER!” he screeched. I was momentarily frozen, shocked by the foul language spewing from his tiny mouth. Where on earth did he pick that up? Not from me! What do I do now? Ignoring it was not an option. Oh great, now everyone’s staring!
As I pondered my next move, I noticed a teenage cashier chuckling at the scene. Did I mention I’m a high school teacher? I couldn’t help but channel my inner educator: “You think this is funny? A three-year-old is throwing a tantrum and cursing in public to manipulate his mom! You’re setting a terrible example for him!” Sure, maybe my frustration was a bit misdirected.
The Target incident was soon overshadowed by the epic showdown I had with our three-year-old daughter, Lily, over a pair of shoes that didn’t fit.
“I WANT THEM! I WANT THEM!” she screamed as she flailed on the floor.
“I know you do, but they don’t fit. Let’s try on your sparkly ones instead,” I replied, hoping logic would prevail.
“NO! I WANT THOSE!” she howled, tears streaming down her cheeks.
This ridiculous standoff dragged on for ten minutes as I wrestled to get her sparkle shoes on, all while glancing nervously at the clock—I was going to be late for work.
“NO! I WANT TO PUT MY SPARKLE SHOES ON MYSELF!” she insisted.
“Alright, you go ahead, but we need to hurry.”
“NO! I WANT YOU TO DO IT!”
After several more rounds of this back-and-forth, I reached my limit. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME, LILY! I have to go to work!” I tried to reason with her, but it was futile. I finally managed to shove her shoes onto her squirming feet, all while being smacked by her flailing arms.
It was a frosty 6:15 a.m., and as I wrestled the still-screaming Lily into the van, I could see lights flickering on in neighboring houses. I must have looked like a kidnapper dragging a frantic child. But no kidnapper would put up with this craziness. I was just trying to get her into shoes and into the car!
As I write this, Lily is bouncing on the couch, an activity I’ve expressly forbidden. When she accidentally kicks her dad in the face, I calmly enforce the “Naughty Spot” rule.
“NO!” she defiantly responds, punctuating her insubordination with a spit.
I take a deep breath and begin my “1-2-3 Magic” training: “One. Go to the Naughty Spot.”
“NO!” she retorts, showering me with saliva.
“Two. Naughty Spot.”
“NO!” she screams, dousing me once more. My stomach churns as I fight to keep my cool. If she’s like this at three, what on earth will happen when she’s thirteen?
“Three. Naughty Spot or you’re going to bed without a story!” In a final act of rebellion, she gathers spit and lets out a raspberry. “Okay, take her to bed,” I tell my husband.
“NOOOOO! I want a different mommy. You’re NOT NICE!” she yells, delivering her most cutting insult. The next twenty minutes are a whirlwind of shrieks and tears, but eventually, she’s settled into bed.
The only remedy I know for this madness? A fourth birthday.
My little girl turns four at the end of December, and honestly, it can’t come soon enough!
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Summary:
Navigating the challenges of parenting a three-year-old can feel like a rollercoaster ride of emotions. From unexpected tantrums and outbursts to high-stakes battles over shoes, it’s a wild adventure. As parents, we often wonder if this behavior is just a phase or a glimpse into the future. The journey can be overwhelming, but the promise of a brighter, calmer tomorrow keeps us going.