Yesterday, the 3 year-old had a 30 minute meltdown over being asked to pick up 20 cards that she had flung across the room. All the histrionics ensued. When I finally relented and helped her, she immediately dried up and assigned me a Disney villain to play opposite her princess.
She is running my universe. She’s like Godzilla in pink leggings, a pill with a ponytail, a cheeky little id.
And I’m hooked. I can’t get enough of her. I mean, I can. There is a specific hour limit spent around her when I start to lose my shit, but I come back pretty quickly after reprieve, to see what kind of mayhem she’s causing that I missed.
It’s her. I mean, she’s exceptionally weird and wonderful and amazing and is easy to adore, but I also like this age, that is notoriously miserable. I remember feeling the same about Henry around this time in his life.
Living with a 3 year-old is hell, don’t get me wrong. They are the worst roommates, with their full volume everything, and shitty attitudes and bathroom antics. But….they’re also saying hysterical things all the time through those fat baby cheek remnants.
The struggle for independence is rough. Whatever happens to her, I have to pay the consequences. If she falls when I told her to be careful, it’s still on me to fix the injury and get glared at for not protecting her from herself. I’m screaming ‘If you’d JUST LISTENED’ in my head, but I’m the only one who cares, so I have to get over the voices in my head, as usual.
Sometimes, the consequences of her independence are more…gruesome. Today, I found…how can I put this delicately….I found some evidence that the digestion process had been completed in the toilet, but no such evidence that it had been cleaned up after. *Someone* had clearly gone but not flushed or wiped (or washed hands??). So, 1 out of 4 ain’t bad?? Shudder.
Despite all that, I still love her sassy little funny self at this stage and wouldn’t trade it. I think I like people who are a little sharp and challenging. I think folks who are too nice and easy-going make me nervous. So, 3 year-olds are my tribe.
I don’t really aim to be a nice, easy-going person, either, so why would I expect that from them? I told Robb today, as we drove past this really calming, pleasant sage green house with slightly lighter sage green shutters, “That’s the lovely, chill house version of the person I WANT to be, but in truth, I’m that fuchsia house with the front door hanging off the frame all wonky-like.” And….it’s true, and really, it’s fine. The sage house is beautiful and all, but no one will fuck with the fuchsia house because clearly the people inside have nothing to lose.
Henry started 1st grade today! He sailed in to the assembly hall, asked a 5th grader for directions, found his spot, sat down, and then gave us begrudging hand shake/awkward high-fives just to get us to leave faster. He’s doing great taking care of himself. It was pretty cool seeing what all this self-sufficiency training looks like a few years later. We’ll see if the start of 1st grade knocks him over as much as kindergarten did for a while.
Love these big personality, loud, goofy, strong people I live with. As long as they are making some progress toward making good choices, and being kind, I can hold on for the ride. I’m really happy to hold on for the ride. If Anna lets me.