Welcome to the threenage years

Last updated: 26/04/2016 16:15 by DaisyWilson to DaisyWilson's Blog
Filed under: MummyBloggers
 
The three-year-old was going through an extended period of tantrums, whining, complaining, obstinacy, sulks and any other kind of negative you can think of for a pre-schooler.
 
She refuses to sit in her seat when we get into the car, slipping will’o wisp style into the front seats, always one step ahead of my grasp. When we arrive home she refuses to get out.
 
You can’t see the car from the house so I can’t just throw up my hands and leave her there - a thought sorely tempted, especially the other day when it began to hail on me while I ran through my lines.
 
Reasoning, imploring, ultimatums.
 
In the end I pulled her out of her car seat while she screamed. Screamed at the top of her lungs like she was being attacked by sabre-toothed tiger.
 
My ears rang for half an hour afterwards, though she seemed perfectly content playing with Lego.  
 
But it's not just about the car seat. 
 
The three-year-old is a like a gourmand dictator when it comes to eating.
 
God forbid you offer a cracker that has cracked - screaming rage will ensue.
 
You will spend half an hour with her deciding if she wants a ham or a peanut-butter sandwich  and when, at last, you present the sandwich of her dreams, she will change her mind and become further enraged if you do not acquiesce to making a different one.
 
Getting ready for playschool or shopping or anything at all requires patience by the lorry load - five different wardrobes changes and high pitch screaming (hers, I do mine silently and on the inside). It requires refusal to put on shoes.
 
It requires coaxing and pleading and stern words and pretending to leave without the tiny little Roman Emperor.
 
After two weeks of this I detailed with great passion my trials and tribulations to a dear friend who said, well, it sounds like you have a threenager.
 
This was a new word to me and kind of terrifying...
 
But after putting the phone down I began to feel better, relieved even.
 
This was just a phase! A threenaged phase.
 
Maybe we wouldn’t need the exorcism after all.
 
Daisy Wilson is a freelance writer who lives and works in West Cork. Mum to an almost-teenager and a toddler who is striding through the terrible twos with a glint in her eye, life is noisy, fun and covered in fingerprint marks.
 
369Shares
Déanta in Éirinn - Sheology
About