For as long as I can remember, I have heard so much about the "terrible two's". You know, the mysterious age where your sweet baby becomes a crazed tantrum throwing toddler. My kids have had their fair share of terrible two moments. Brother is now two and honestly, he's never been sweeter, except when he doesn't get his way. Don't tell me, I know it's coming. I have been warned about what to expect in the second year.
The thing that I was NEVER warned about what that glorious age of three almost four. In the past month, Sister has discovered her inner teenager. We have the eye rolling, the back-talking, the stomping, the wailing, the "it's not fair", the silent treatment. Oh yeah, and those tantrums, they're still around, too.
What the freak is going on here? I've got myself a full blown teenager over ten years too early. This, no one warned me about. Not one single person.
However, when I share my angst and my 'I may have just raised the first pre-pubescent diva' stories with friends, what do I get?
"Oh yeah, little Sarah went through that stage too. I thought I'd die before it was over."
OH REALLY? Well, dear best friend, why didn't you warn me what I was in for? I'd love a little dose of truth to prepare me. No. Wait. I probably would have snorted something to myself about how my precious little princess would never ever do something so sassy as roll her eyes at me. She'd never ever scream until my ears bleed just because she can't have the green cup. NEVER. Not my little one.
So, ladies, listen to me. I'll tell you. Three going on four sucks. The dark times make me forget the fun times most days. What? You don't believe me? Don't worry. I'll send you a copy of the book I'm working on "Thank God I Made It To Kindergarten Without My Mom Selling Me To The Gypsies".