Three has been much more challenging than the “terrible” twos ever were.
Three has brought more laughs, more quotable moments, and lots more milestones. Nina is sweet and clever, and (yippee!) potty-trained now too. She is a star according to her sitter, always remembering to say please and thank you and to share.
But lately I feel like she is milking her last few months of being three…there are tantrums every day, twice a day, in the middle of the night, at five in the morning. Tantrums so loud and so long that she has developed a hoarse, Joan-Rivers-style croak where her little voice used to be. The more she understands that she is separate from me, the more she seems to be rejecting my offers for comfort. I don’t believe in ignoring a child who is clearly upset, even if the situation is frustrating or stressful, so I find myself sitting and watching her screech and flail. It’s tough. Even though I’m right there and available to comfort her, I can’t stop feeling like I’m doing something wrong. Ten, fifteen minutes pass as I sit and watch and she sits and screams. And I hope that this is “just a phase” like so many other things, because laaaaaawwwdd….I can’t handle being rejected out of hand, and I can’t handle not being able to comfort her when she is losing her mind. I confess, it was intoxicating to be able to comfort her with nothing but my presence and a hug.
Many people have said that four is different, easier than three. Sweet Jesus, I hope so. Because she is so, so cute….but I am so, so spent.