I know everyone refers to the terrible twos, but for my kids I never thought 2 was that bad of an age. Now 3, that's a hard age. Take Paul - for a few hours, please. Bah-dum-bump. Seriously, this kid challenges me daily. Ben was a tough 3, too, but Paulie frays my nerves in a different way. Last week he came out of the bathroom and said, "Mommy, I like cough drops." I should have known to move them to higher ground after he had curiously watched me pop a lozenge into my mouth the week before. How many had he eaten? Just one, thank God. Now, Ben wouldn't have done that. He would have whined and badgered me to let him try one, but I don't think he would have just taken one. Of course this goes along with Paul's personality, and I should have known better. After all, he is the child who delights in being naughty, who learned to climb practically before he walked and who painted our basement walls.
Before I tried my hand at raising 3-year-olds, I didn't think it would be that bad. They're a little older, can talk fairly well and therefore I can reason with them, I thought. I neglected to factor in the boundary-pushing and defiant streak. When Paul was younger, I began strapping him into his booster seat for timeouts so he wouldn't be able to get up. When he turned 3, I decided he needed to learn to sit on his own without getting up. Guess what? He won't do it. We had a showdown Sunday night in which he refused to sit. Therefore, a favorite toy had to take timeout in addition to him finishing his own timeout. I shouldn't be surprised that the next day I caught him pushing a chair to the refrigerator in a valiant attempt to free Batman.
Thank goodness my sweet little boy still emerges fairly often too. Just nine and a half months until the terrible threes are over.
No comments:
Post a Comment