I’ve really been into this whole phenomenon of “open letters” surfacing all over social media lately. As I considered my blog post for the month of April, I knew immediately that I wanted to write an open letter, AND I knew immediately who deserved my thoughts. No, it wasn’t the usual suspects such as a boss, nor an idiotic political candidate..shoot ya’ll, it wasn’t even my husband. No, no friends, it’s my three year old. So G, here’s my open letter to you at the ripe and delightful age of three years old, memorialized on the interwebs for all to see. Too bad you can’t read it to defend yourself…
Dear G,
When you came in to this world, and your Dada with teary eyes said, “it’s a girl“… I had never felt a love like I did in that moment. It was euphoric. All made sense, my purpose in life felt secured as your mama, and I finally understood why after all of those years your grandmother obnoxiously said to me; “You won’t understand until you’re a parent.” With every passing day, my heart stretched more and more to accommodate all of the room I needed for that ever growing love. Your smiles, giggles, first steps and words are something never to be forgotten.
As we rounded the corner on your first year of life, I couldn’t wait for what was ahead. As we hit the 18 month mark, I absolutely could not get enough of you. When we got close to 24 months, I began to worry about the “terrible twos,” but you were heavenly. I thought to myself: “Why, we are either the best parents in the world to have raised such a sweet, independent little girl, or she’s just innately an incredible little human.” And then… we hit three. And it was time to hold on to our effing hats.
Sweet G, with the intent of just being honest, I must say this. It was like the Devil himself entered your soul. Overnight. The change was almost impressive, were it not so horrific. It was like you saved up ALL of your evil energy from the twos, and HURLED it into the day you hit three. I promise munchkie, I say all of this out of love, but WHAT IN THE SWEET LOVE OF THE LORD HAPPENED??? Let’s get to a few basics……
1) Is there any chance that you could stop talking? Like, ever? You don’t have to stop talking FOR-EVER, I don’t want you to go mute on me….but just intermittently for 5 (or 50, but who’s counting) minutes would be a Godsend, especially when I’m talking to other human beings that inevitably share planet Earth with us. Let me give you a hint. When I don’t respond after you say the word “Mama” 900 times in under 30 seconds…it’s not because I can’t hear you. It’s because I’m FLAT OUT IGNORING you and your non-stop chirping. Sweet goodness get.a.freaking.clue.
2) Let’s say there is in fact the off-chance that you do shut your trap for a second. What about listening? Do you think there’s ANY possibility that skill could manifest itself in your little brain just like once? Bizarrely, as I sit here and think about your inability to listen… I’m beginning to realize you’re punking me, in fact listening very carefully, and then doing the EXACT OPPOSITE of what I ask. Maybe I’ll counter you on that little mind game and start telling you to do everything I wish you wouldn’t. “Hey G, please pick up that dangerous razor in my shower one more time…” or “G, would you mind getting as many words out as humanly possible in the next minute, let’s really show the world what you can do and set a record.” Or perhaps, “Man G, I would LOVE for you to body slam your baby brother one more time. Do it again!”
I will say, this whole not listening (or listening.. still trying to figure it out) bit has driven me to drink substantially more. I don’t know if I should be thanking you for that, or blaming you. We’ll just leave it there, but let’s talk in about 30 years on how it turned out. (OH and on an apologetic note, super sorry for pushing you down on the bed a few nights ago. It’s just when you do jumping jacks while I’m trying to get your god forsaken pull-up on and then you head butt me in the chin after I’ve asked you to “be still” only 1 billion times… I don’t know, I just get frustrated. Please forgive me).
3) What is the deal with the word dinner???? Like, for reals? It’s as if I said, ” No more TV for the rest of eternity” with the way you react every time we even make reference to it. I seriously am so confused, there are no tantrums at the mention of breakfast or lunch. It’s merely dinner time. If I start calling dinner other words, like “snack time” or “your meal at dusk,” can we avoid all this BS? It’s starting to wear me out.
4) I mean PLEASE just start telling me what your end goal is up front. For instance, when you insist that you have to go #2 RIGHT after I’ve tucked you in at night… we can skip this whole back and forth after we get to the bathroom. First, you ask me to leave you alone for “privacy” then demand I come back in so you’re not alone, then ask me to leave yet again and not “see you” and then one more time beg me to come back in… to so AUDACIOUSLY request a story (while you’re still on the pot, NOT going #2), it’s crazy town. Listen sister, I’m on to your scheme here. If you could just cut the crap and ask me to read one more book while we’re still in your room, we’d save a whole lot of minutes. I know that a lot of times (or always) I say no, but for the love woman, be more forthcoming. Or maybe, just quit being so tricky.
5) The word “no” and the phrase ” I don’t want to”… lose them. Forget they ever existed. Banish them from your three year old vernacular. I can’t imagine where you even learned them from in the first place, but they’re crushing my soul.
In all seriousness G, I get it… you’re only three. But to be perfectly fair… that’s no excuse, nor does it make it acceptable to behave like the true definition of an A-hole. So I implore you… please lock it up, get your head out of your three year old heinie and go back to my sweet precious little baby because it just might restore my sanity, my integrity, and my sheer will to live. Do that for me sweet girl.
Love always, forever and ever and ever (and I mean that from the bottom of my heart).
Your current frenemy,
Mama
Disclaimer: As I was looking for pictures of G acting horrendously as a three year old, they were tough to find as I came across so many AMAZINGLY wonderful and hysterical memories during this same stretch of life. She’s an independent, spunky and amazing little human and I cherish her every day… but for every parent reading this, get ready. Three is no joke. GODSPEED.
I feel like you’re litterally reading my thoughts! It’s good to hear that Wyatt was not the only 3 year old (he just turned 4 a week ago, I’m still waiting for the flip to switch to 4) that acted like he was possessed. I love reading your blogs! Keep up the good work!
This is SERIOUSLY what happened to Russ on his 3rd birthday. He went from being my little sweetheart to a monster. It was SO challenging. And about a month ago I was crying (and I swear my husband was close) talking about how we thought something had to be “wrong” with him, a switch flipped and he has been freaking awesome. Here’s hope to 4 is amazing and the complete opposite of 3.
Love your honesty. I literally put myself in time out. Not because I’ve done something wrong but because I’m on the verge of exploding and causing a few casualties. Also when I say “mommy needs a time out” it’s a concept they understand and are a bit bewildered by as well. They usually give me some space, long enough for a few deep breaths, a mini mama pep talk, and a prayer: something along the lines of “God help me!”
Fours have been consistently better for us with the exception of spread out worsts. But I hear 5s your somewhat out of the woods!