My son turns three in a few days, and I’m freaking out. Seriously, I’m freaking out. Terrible Two’s have done a number on me and I’m already fairly certain I’m
raising a little monster.
And for all the comfort I take in feeling like I’ve survived this age of terror, there are countless moms chomping at the bit to assure me it doesn’t get better. It only gets worse.
It’s the Terrible Twos right? It’s called this for a reason. Why would we give it that nickname if things were only going to get worse? Don’t mess with my head and make me think I’ve just got to get past this one stage and it’s all rainbows and butterflies from here on out.
Because the Terrible Twos are pretty terrible. The tantrums. The crying. The TOILET TRAINING. Need I go on? This year has been the longest of my life. I’m aging faster than Obama did in the White House. I can’t even imagine it getting harder, more exhausting, and more demanding.
But at the same time, I’m a fairly direct person, and I need to hear it straight. If my arm was dislocated, don’t tell me fixing it “might sting a little.” I want to hear it’s going to hurt like hell, but will feel immensely better after. That’s fair, right?
So my straight-talking friends warn me about the illustrious “Three-nager. Apparently the Threenager is a force to be reckoned with, and the Terrible Two is a walk in the park.
Threenagers are lying, manipulative and smart little bastards. They know how stinking cute they are and they work it. They begin to lie. The tantrums get even worse. And they know how to push our buttons at just the right moment.
How can this be? Is it even possible for age three to be worse than two? Say it ain’t so! And where did this expression come from? I’ve never heard it growing up. Is this a new phenomenon? I feel jilted for not knowing this information going into this whole parenting thing.
So now I’m left with the question… which is worse? Terrible Twos or the Threenagers?
And as we celebrate my son’s third birthday in a few days, the ultimate question. The question to rule them all — Can I survive another year?