The Threenage Years

So it seems I’ve got myself a threenager, I thought it was a myth, you know like terrible twos, because realistically terrible twos was a few funny tantrums, the odd copied swearword and nothing that a laced coffee couldn’t get me through.

The Threenage years have got me considering hardcore drugs to get me through breakfast.

You see I suddenly have a stubborn or should I say STRONG WILLED little human who has absolutely no regard for anything, especially my sanity.

Bribery gets me through the day for the smallest of tasks, for example, ‘Oscar if you don’t smack me in the face you can have 6 cupcakes, a brownie and a new toy.’

I’m kiddin’… Sort of.

It has my small person throwing his food at the dog and storming off, slamming doors when the dog DARES to eat said food.

Threenager is the definition of my toddler who is sat with his back to me, in the porch screaming ‘I just CANNNNNTTTTT MOMMY’ when paw patrol finishes and I cant magically put on the new episodes (p.s NICK JNR… DONT ADVERTISE SHIT IF I CANT WATCH IT RIGHT NOW!)

It’s rocking up to nursery full of excitement to see the toddler who comes out shouting ‘I bashed him in the face mommy’ whilst the other school moms give you THE LOOK, and the teacher gives you, the talk!

They drive you mad, they talk your head off, they steal your phone for Youtube, they steal your only chocolate treat, and fight you for every single necessary-to-keep-alive thing, baths, food, bed…

And then.. You tuck them in, they tell you they love you and you melt, and remember exactly why you didn’t do hardcore drugs at breakfast.

And then.

They fart.

Written by Bethany Dempsey at BD Blogs.