When my brothers and I were young, my parents had to take us to the ER so often that they started to worry that people would think they were abusing us. We were just really good at doing stupid things, like riding a banana-seat bike with multiple children hanging from it. Barefoot, of course.
Now that I’m a parent, I have similar fears. Currently, I’m worried that people will think that Linnea is being raised by wolves. Since she turned three, she’s been acting what I call “impossible” much of the time. At her well-child visit last week, she refused to be weighed, measured, or spoken to. She not so politely declined to let the doctor look in her mouth. No amount of sweet-talking, demanding, begging, or bribing could change her mind. Even the doctor tried to tempt her with a packet of fruit snacks that I had packed.
As the doctor went over a list of developmental milestones, I laughed. Speaking in three-word phrases? No problem. This girl has been dishing all kinds of sass this week. Thank god she also gets plenty of sweetness in there in between comments like “No, mommy. You’re making me very upset.” In fact, today she said, “I’m going to help feed Baby. I’m a big sister!” And she actually did help feed the baby.
Yesterday, I really pushed my luck by taking her to get her birthday portrait taken. She woke up in a grumpy mood, and this was underscored by her hysterical reaction when the baby ripped the Band-Aid off her knee, so I knew it was a risky move. I told her that I’d take her to the donut shop afterward if she was good and hoped for the best. Delayed gratification is not really her thing yet, and while I really could’ve gone for a jelly donut, it was not to be.
During the photo session, she barely cracked a smile. It was basically a repeat performance of the doctor’s office, with me looking like a fool, begging my child to comply, while she seemed rather unimpressed by me in general. She looked at me calmly but made no attempt to acquiesce. I knew the session was over when she unintentionally but quite forcefully head-butted me.
Bedtime has been interesting as well. Up until now, having the kids share a room has gone quite smoothly. However, since Linnea turned three, she’s decided that it’s acceptable to make a complete racket in her bed. Maybe even a ruckus. On average, she’s disturbed the baby’s slumber about twice each evening. Every time, I get more and more angry, but again—no amount of pleading makes a difference.
Tonight, I tried a new tactic. New body language. “Wanna get out of bed and run around like a monkey?” my expression seemed to say. “Big deal.” I slouched down in a living room chair, typing away, while she continued to scramble from her bed to show me something or another. Usually, I would carry her back to bed with a few firm (or exasperated) words, but tonight I was nonchalant and downright positive. “Wow,” I said, “You’re going to be a really good girl and go hop right back in bed, aren’t you?” And strangely enough, she did.
*****
I Want to Know
- Do you have any experience dealing with three-year-old children?
- If you’re a parent, do you ever fear that doctors, photographers, or complete strangers will think you’re entirely incompetent?
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We are a little over a month away from dealing with a three-year-old but it is amazing how much she has grown up in the past couple of months.
I think it is normal to worry people will think you are incompetent as a parent. Today we were looking at all of the bruises on Belén’s legs wondering how she got all of them (daycare?) talking about how we worry someone will call child protective services on us (joking.) A few minutes later we came up with a solution. She wanted to try her new soccer shinguards out and ended up wearing them all day long. What is worse, bruises all over her shins, or your daughter wearing a pink twirly princess skirt with black shinguards?
Ha! Love it! We have lots of good outfits around here these days, too, including going anywhere and everywhere in pajamas. I’ll be interested to see whether you notice any behavioral changes around the time that Belen turns three.
When my boys were 3 and 2, I used to fear leaving the house without my husband (who works every other weekend). My best/worst memory was taking them both, on my own, to a 20 minute library story time for toddlers. Somehow every single child sat quietly next to his/her parent(S). As soon as the librarian started reading, my older son rushed the stage while my younger son ran out the door. Both were screaming wildly. I managed to take firm hold of both of them (while avoiding eye contact with *everyone* and carried to them to the car while crying. We went back home and I make my myself a vodka tonic mid-afternon.
The good news is that now my oldest is almost 6 and my youngest is 4, I love taking them places and it is only rarely that I regret it, and pretty much never that I need to self-medicate afterwards with vodka.
Thanks for making me laugh.
I can just picture this little scene. I still fear going to the library after a showdown Linnea and I had in the parking lot there last year.
Hey! Leslie! The pot is calling the kettle black!
Well, it wasn’t three, I think it was four. We went to Emma’s teacher conference at her nursery school. We’re sort of holding our breath because Emma could only be described as sort of horrible at home those particular days.
It just about got to panic for me when teacher said, “What can I say about Emma?”
I think I had an actual grimace on my face by the time she went on, “Emma is just about perfect, what a great little girl.”
We went home sort of stunned and said, “Emma, your teachers says you are great at school, why are you so naughty at home right now.”
Emma, “I have to be bad at home because I am too good at school!”
That reminds me of my goddaughter Mya – when I was doing her childcare she was an angel (her teachers love her too), but at home with Mom she was a hellion.