3 going on 13

dear world,

the terrible 2’s are truly a piece of cake when compared to age 3. why isn’t there a catching name for this business?

when V was 2, obviously she pushed my limits as i’ve written about many times. today, 8:45pm found me nearly in tears. let me elaborate:

we left for buffalo, ny this morning to attend a wedding reception tomorrow night. some friends were hosting a cookout this evening. V really did great in the car. for a 5 hour ride, we read books most of the morning and only after stopping for lunch did we bust out the ipad and dvd player. i should mention the lack of nap here.

after we arrived at the hotel, she asked to take a nap and i thought she must really understand how tired she is, but that was just a clever ruse to lay in the bed and fuss and ask for things and kick her legs and not take a nap. so what did we do, we took her to a cookout with a bunch of adults and only a couple people she actually knew.

after 5 minutes, i had already chased her (in the mud) across two lawns. we sat to have lemonade together and spilled it all over her dress, the porch, you know. then, while i was cleaning up the mud, she took off down the sidewalk with pop. that honestly seemed like a good idea to me until i went with her the next time and she proceeded to run out into the street! seriously, right out into the street where she could have been hit by a car. being pregnant has significantly slowed me down and i actually couldn’t move fast enough to catch her. she did it 3 times. words cannot accurately express that feeling of fear and helplessness and anger.

i know she wants to do things herself and assert her opinions. she begins every sentence with “hey!” and then tells you whatever the most important thing is (which is usually the opposite of what you just explained to her). for example, hey mommy! we’ll eat my brownie, then watch diego, then do settle down and i don’t need any jams. this after i just explained that she could eat her brownie, then we’ll wash hands and face and brush teeth, then put on jams and we’re only doing books for settle down.

the last straw for me is the fact that i’m currently sitting in a mostly dark hotel room with my (finally) sleeping child one bed over who just wouldn’t go to sleep. i couldn’t leave the room to let her be. i couldn’t go downstairs. i ended up sitting outside the little bathroom in front of the sink on one of those fancy decorative pillows until she eventually sacked out.

at once, i am so proud that she understands enough to express what she wants and at the same time so frustrated that she can’t just do what i ask her to without trying to adapt it once in a while.




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