I have a really brilliant friend named Phoebe who has mentioned several times how easy a two-year old is compared to a three-year old. She recalled barely making it some days, feeling like her head might pop off. I can remember listening to her stories and feeling so grateful for my super mellow boy.
We are just about three weeks away from three and now I get it. Earlier today, I thought I was going to lose it. I made a big mistake yesterday. While in Trader Joe’s, I told M he could have some chocolate. We came upon some awesome little chocolates coins. Perfect! He could just have one or two a day. All would be well in the world. But I got the opposite. My sweet, mellow boy turned into a monster. When denied a fourth or fifth coin (I had already caved), he started screaming and demanding chocolate. “NOW!” my precious boy hurled my way through the tears and life-threatening pain of the chocolate being put too high on a shelf for him to reach.
This wasn’t the first time the terrific threes have made an appearance. By the end of most days, I am beyond grateful for the safety of my bed. Tucked under the covers with the lights off, I don’t have to negotiate with anyone. S knows not to talk to me while I unwind from the hours of “Stop giving the dog food from your plate” or “If you ask me about the chocolates one more time, I am putting them in the trash”.
My plan all along has been to home school M. Tonight, I am not so sure. Tonight, I am thinking that full-time school out of the home might be the only way to survive the next year. I decided that every time I feel like screaming at the beautiful little person who is developmentally appropriately infuriating, I will do push-ups instead. I hypothesis that I will look like a young Arnold Schwarzenegger by the time December 2014 rolls around. People will cross the street when they see me coming, not sure what to make of my guns. Little will they know that all they see is a year’s worth of forced patience. In the meantime, I have been sneaking those damn chocolate coins, trying to dwindle his stash so we can have to over and done with. I figure he will never remember how many he had and if he does, I can always blame S. May the wrath be with her.