I feel like when I was pregnant with Arwen I was ambushed with more advice than I ever wanted. I was told stories that I never wanted to hear (this means strangers, like people in the store, not friends that I was actually having conversations with). I received warnings and I can’t even express how many awful stories I was told about going into labor. I don’t know if people don’t realize this, but when you are a about to deliver, you have no choice! You can’t choose to not deliver, I mean you can, but it will be super awkward when you have a 16 year old living in your uterus. Being pregnant is just like you are on a roller coaster, once that coaster starts you can only get off when it’s over. Well unless the ride operator is really mean and keeps making you go around and around, but let’s hope that is never that case, or you will learn about changing soiled pants quickly as well, if we want to use this same metaphor for babies, but I stray. So telling all the awful stories is just making the coaster a bit more scary. I am not exactly sure why people felt I needed to really hear about the most awful things possible. I was of course aware of the things that could happen, in fact I have my own scary story that I can ambush random strangers with.
With all this to say. I thought I had heard every single thing that I should be prepared for whether I wanted to know it or not, until she was 14. BUT in all the advice and stories I received, I had never heard of the “threenage” year, or that that the terrible twos was nothing compared to your child hitting three, or in our case almost three.
I was relieved when I would share my stress, and people would ask if she was almost 3, and finally they let me in on this secret that this is a stage, and I don’t need to call an exorcist. My sweet girl became a bully…to me, hitting me, threatening to stab me, leaving me in tears, where I would “tattle” on her to my husband and let him know she was mean to me, and hurt my feelings, while pointing and stomping my foot, you know, like 32 year old women do. Not my best parenting moment, but I was so confused as to why the devil was coming out of my child. In fact, I only had relief when I was told, this was a thing, and each stranger just covered every other age, but three, as of this point, the most scary. We are still in the “threenage” year, but I am so relieved that I don’t have to worry just yet about getting her into therapy because she is so mean…there still may be that moment, but let’s hope not.
So, I guess to be a hypocrite, I am going to give a warning that wasn’t asked for, be prepared for year three…be very prepared, hard hats, tissues, whatever you need, but the good news is, you will come out of it with just a couple of scratches.