The terrible twos, the aaaCKK%*%^&$!! threes
Forgive me, I am a blogging failure. We went to Costa Rica in FEBRUARY and now it's halfway through March and I still haven't posted pictures.
But you see, it's not my fault. See, I have a three-year-old. Yup. See? Airtight excuse. Cause as you all know (especially those of you who have already had three-year-olds, and lived to tell the tale but somehow managed to avoid letting ME know), having a three-year-old is WAY WORSE than having a two-year-old.
Seriously, he was pretty bad before. Tantrums, boundary-pushing, button-pushing, nap strikes, hitting/biting/clawing. But nothing compared to now. We were starting to wonder if he picked up some horrible good-behavior-aversion disease in the jungle in Costa Rica, but then our friends (thanks Sonia) and pediatrician (thanks whatever your name is) let us know: three can be worse than two. Thanks for the advance warning, y'all.
Let's just review this evening, randomly chosen from an entire series of other similar evenings, purely for educational purposes. Tonight, P taught us the invaluable lesson that you cannot leave a three-year-old on their own for even a second (mind you, both of us were home, and our apartment only has three rooms), or he might:
a) Eat the entire tube of toothpaste AND use the saliva that generates to soak through his bed and stuffed animals on the bed and then start shrieking uncontrollably because his stuffed animals are "too wet";
b) Take his cup of lemonade (only grudgingly allowed after the toothpaste incident) and the 3-foot-long flexible plastic tube attachment that inflates the guest air mattress, sit on mommy and daddy's bed and try to use the tube to suck the lemonade out of the cup, spilling (of course) all of it on the bed;
c) While getting a timeout for the lemonade incident, scream "I need to PEEEEEE", thus ensuring that his parents let him out of the timeout to go to the potty (no dummy, this kid);
d) While peeing (or hopefully, a little afterwards), grab a spray bottle of degreaser (don't ask me how it got there, I don't know) and proceed to spray the floor, the toilet, the walls and the toilet paper roll;
and
e) Just for good measure, take his shoes off and spit/drool/slobber into them until they're thoroughly soaked.
Keep in mind this was all between dinner and bedtime. That is, between 6:30 and 7:30 at night. P-roc wants to know: what did YOU achieve in that hour today?
To end on a more upbeat note, here's a picture of le petit prince enjoying himself in Costa Rica. It's a lovely country and we hope he survives his parents' wrath long enough to visit there once again some day. On his own.
posted by Auntie J @ 10:27 PM
9 comments
9 Comments:
man o man! Eloise says, she just wants to come and live with you while she's 3. Fine with me. I particularly like slobbering in the shoes!
I remember the threes. And sadly, I will be entering that realm again all too soon. Jacen will be 3 next month. Good luck! Some day, it will get easier. At least, that's what people tell me.
Jen (Hoogerbrugge) Moses
Wonderful... you've just convinced me to sign up for a vasectomy.
One morning Raf and I woke up to Reese crying because he could not get out of his room. We walked into a room that was smeared with Eucerin, it was everywhere. All over him, Zeke and the crib the door the floor, you name it, it was cover with it. He was crying because he could not turn the doorknob. What a mess to clean up.
Thanks for the birth control!
he sounds lively! We are at the slightly past the 2.5 stage and our little angel tears the door knob locks off and leaves them in a disassembled pile on the floor after knocking down baby gates without a problem. How do you make a child like that go to sleep at night... because after a day of his lively activity you really just want them to go to sleep.
Stacy says, until they've smeared poo everywhere in their room, including under the doorframe so that it rubs off on the rug every time you open or close the door for the next 3 months, you ain't seen nothin'.
Okay, stacy would never say that. She would say, "aww, you poor mama! there there, there there."
That's what I say, too. :)
saida's not even two. and ... well ... you saw her on sunday. dear God.
Hey, at least your pediatrician didn't hint that you weren't going to be able to get through your two year check up if you didn't do something about your child screaming and writhing on the floor (as if we were attempting to flay the poor dear) and hand you a photocopied chapter of "Raising an Emotionally Intelligent Child" and write the book information on a prescription pad.... and you're telling me 3 is going to be worse?!
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