I genuinely enjoy being the parent of a 3-year-old. There, I said it without any hesitation or laughter, and my nose remains the same length. It’s a statement made with a touch of skepticism, but I mean it.
Let me elaborate. A few weeks ago, my daughter turned 3. Now, when asked her age, she proudly holds up her fingers and confidently declares, “I’m free yur yolds” [her emphasis]. Daily, we witness her embodying “The Fire,” a state where her energy feels almost otherworldly. My partner, Liz, and I exchange knowing glances when we sense The Fire igniting, prompting us to act quickly.
When Alice is engulfed by The Fire, chaos ensues: we usher the dog to safety, pick up her unsuspecting baby brother, clear potentially dangerous objects from her vicinity, and brace ourselves for the impending storm. For what feels like an eternity—anywhere from 5 to 7 business days—Alice spirals into a whirlwind of destruction, hitting, biting, throwing, and laughing, only to eventually settle down, realizing there’s nothing left to wreak havoc on.
You might think this is typical behavior, but it had been ongoing well before her birthday. I resisted the notion that turning 3 would magically transform her into a chaotic force, as she was already quite the hurricane. How is it fair to label behavior milestones based on a solar calendar when these little ones have been around for such a brief time?
It wasn’t until a grueling, exhausting day—36 hours without preschool, during my paternity leave with my newborn son, Oliver—when the temperature soared and tensions ran high, that I truly grasped it: My 3-year-old was, indeed, about to drive me to the brink.
If you’re a parent of one of these little beings or have survived their tempestuous phase, you’ve likely had discussions about how the so-called “terrible twos” hardly encapsulate the joy and challenges of this age. Three is where the real chaos begins. “They’re little monsters,” you might say, describing toddlers who seem determined to create mayhem and have little regard for convention. Threenagers, I’ve observed, are like supersized 2-year-olds, armed with an expanded vocabulary, extreme emotional highs and lows, and an uncanny ability to oppose anything asked of them—especially in high-pressure situations.
I may have been a bit overconfident about this. As Alice approached her third birthday, she was already spirited, fearless, and always testing boundaries. A natural talker, she has never run out of things to say, often creating new words when she runs dry. While I’m fascinated as a linguist, as a parent, it’s sometimes overwhelming.
She checks off many boxes for her age: temperamental, crafty, rebellious, demanding, and loud. A few recent highlights include:
- When her baby brother was getting his first taste of solid food and Liz and I were distracted, she suddenly yelled, “Who wants butter?!” and proceeded to grab a stick and slather it on her hands.
- She slammed her bedroom door during an emotional outburst, declaring, “I am Alice, and you are my family!” before adding, “I am Moana!”
- She wailed when her puppet friend, Pickle the Raccoon, couldn’t tag along to preschool, insisting on puppet play at all hours.
- After refusing to eat a bowl of beans, she threw them on the floor and, when asked to clean up, crawled on her hands and knees, picking up every single bean—hair and all—and ate them with a triumphant belch.
So, how have I developed a fondness for this age? Let’s call it “The Flipside.” While The Fire tends to dominate discussions around 3-year-olds, there are countless moments of wonder. For instance, when she reminds us to blink during a movie, or refers to us as “you guys,” or “my people.” She can soothe her crying brother like a pro, or ask me, “Papa, my poop was so big! You’re proud, right?” She even cradles her stuffed burrito as if it were a sibling, speaking to it tenderly.
The fierce love she displays toward friends and family, her vibrant play from dawn until dusk, her impromptu dance performances, and her amusing fears of driving on “the freezeway” all add to the richness of this age. And when she holds my hand and says, “You know, Papa? I was tinking. I love my Papa,” my heart melts.
Yes, I embrace The Flipside, and it keeps delighting me. Those humorous moments—the butter escapade, the bean incident, and the puppet play—are becoming cherished memories, making me grateful to have a free-yur-yold in my life.
But why is it that we label the “terrible twos”? Is it generational shifts in parenting, or a mere oversight? Perhaps it’s just catchy. After all, 2-year-olds certainly present their own unique challenges, so the phrase might have arisen without consideration for the trials of age three. And perhaps that shortsightedness is an essential survival tactic for parents navigating this wild ride.
I truly enjoy being a parent to a 3-year-old. But do check in with me in a few months to see if I’m still holding up.
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Summary: Parenting a threenager can be a wild ride filled with chaos, laughter, and unexpected moments of joy. While the “terrible twos” may have set the stage for parental exhaustion, it’s actually age three that can present delightful challenges and surprises. Embracing the “Flipside” of this stage reveals the unique joys of loving and understanding a spirited toddler.