“no I don’t want to”

We’ve established that I live with a Threenager. We’ve also established that the struggle is real and for all of us parents with three year olds, we all know that our patience is the ultimate measuring device on how much wine you can drink far your child can push the boundaries. Often times they are right there on the edge.

My threenager’s mood is deeply affected by his day at daycare or food or the clothes he’s wearing or screen time or time at the park or all of the above (all at once).

The opinions that comes out of his tiny mouth are unbelievably witty, the boy got some things to say.

Recently, a phrase is getting a lot of air time in our household, to a point that a body language (including the lower lip pout) is manifested each time the said phrase is spoken.

“No I Don’t Want to!”

The first few times you find it cute.

Oh look at you Little Mr Defiant. Too cute, but I want you to pack away those toys please.

“No! I don’t want to!”

Oh come on now darling, we need to pack away so we can go to the park.

“No! I don’t want to!”

Come on I’ll help you? 

“No! I don’t want to!”

Do you want to race and see who’s faster in packing away? (I let him win this game all the time, just saying)

“No! I don’t want to”

And then his cool is outta window!

I don’t pack away just because he loses the plot. I wait until he’s done crying and all calm (or almost calm) then ask again what I initially wanted him to do. Sometimes this lasts for 2 hours. True story. But I don’t care, I don’t budge. I also stopped making excuses like “oh he’s just tired” or “he’s a had a bad day” because in reality he’s just being a little turd.

When this happens, the turdness, profanities will start sitting just at the tip of my tongue, but I refuse to get down his shitty level. I am better than this. I am the parent. If I lose my cool then I already lost. Mantra to myself.

Disclaimer: I do lose my cool occasionally,  I am not perfect.

Threats of potential sentence to time out corner are given as a first warning. Then if all fails, I start counting and boy when I count one to five backwards, I mean business and he knows it.

In all honesty, 3 out of 5 times, the little boy will get up and do what was asked of him, happily. I just have to be a broken record. Sometimes he thinks that it’s funny to annoy me, like it’s a game of “how far can I actually push her this time before she starts counting backwards”.

The struggle is real.

And even more when you’re in public. I learned this new phrase from a dear friend, she once told me about Dignity Graveyard. It’s a place where your dignity goes 6 feet under and the very grave is dug by your threenager. The judging eyes of other parents are the dirt that goes in your grave and this can be any public place where parents and children are seen together, like the park or a restaurant or public transport or parents room, the shops, everywhere.

I’ve had my fair share of dignity graveyard and it is not fun while in the moment. However, it’s hilarious after 10 years few days.

I have no real advice because your little turd of a threenager is different than mine. But I’d like to let you know that you are not alone.

Just remember, when all the shitty moods are gone, we are always left with the sweetest little creatures. At least mine is. Hugs and kisses galore and apologises for being a turd. And then tomorrow, we will do it all over again.

For all the single parents, my hat is off to you!!

5 Facts that proves my son is mine

Let’s not account any scientific evidence that he’s mine. Let’s just base it on habits, temperament and mannerisms.

HANGRY

Bean fed like clock work when he was a baby. It’s always on the 3hour mark. If you miss it by a second, because you decided to clean your nipple shield first, you’ll be deaf. There’s no in between range of cries. It’s just FEED ME! Or Imma cut you!!

Yup, that’s me. Once I reach a point of hunger, you will know. Errrbody will know. No one is safe.  

Remember that Snickers ad? You’re not you when you’re hungry? That’s my autobiography. 

Hangry_WorkingMummyChronicles

I CAN DO EVERYTHING MY OWN

My son refuses any kind of help when he’s on a mission. He once carried a tub of cars and a box of blocks all by himself, all in one go, sweat and tears. It was painful to watch. He lost it a few times when I tried to help him. Horrible mum for helping. He lost it just by me asking a question if he wanted help. He’s too independent for his own good.

Well this is me too. When I have something in my mind I’d like to do, I do it on my own. I don’t ask for help even if it would be easier to accept help. I find myself telling my son, let mummy help you. When mummy doesn’t let anyone to help her. OMG, this is so deep. LOL.

I DON’T LIKE TO BE TOLD WHAT TO DO WHEN I AM ACTUALLY DOING IT

This is my threenager:

Bean walks to the fridge.

Your drink bottle is in the fridge,  I tell him. MELTDOWN.

Bean leaves the dining table and gets some wet wipes.

Please wipe your hands and face,  I tell him. MELTDOWN.

Bean goes to the bathroom after being on the potty.

Don’t forget to wash your hands!,  I tell him. MELTDOWN.

Now this is me:

DeathStare_WorkingMummyChronicles
Photo Source and Credits: Google Images, SNL Tumblr

“Watch out for the car, slow down now, use your left indicator, oh move lanes now, wait for this guy to turn, go go go now”, my husband instructs me while I drive. DEATH STARE WITH GLARING EYES. I am doing it!

I go clean the kitchen and  wipe the kitchen counter.

Are you going to wipe the dining table?, my husband asks. DEATH STARE WITH GLARING EYES. I am doing it!

Are we getting the point?

I DON’T LIKE TO BE WOKEN UP FROM MY SLEEP (ESPECIALLY AT NIGHT)

I don’t know how I survived when Bean was a newborn. I was probably just grumpy all the time?

But man if you find me or my son asleep on the couch, on the floor or on the table or under the bed, DONT.YOU.DARE Wake us so sudden.Or just don’t you dare wake up us. We will find our way.

Finally my favourite, MEMORY FAIL

Where is my dummy?  I can’t find my dummy. Oh here it is,  I found it in my hand mummy.

Where is my car mummy? Where is my red car? I can’t find my red car. Oh here it is on my lap.

Where is my car key? I can’t find my car key. Oh here it is in my bag.

Where are my eyeglasses? I can’t find my eyeglasses! Oh here it is on my head.

Where is my pen? I can’t find my pen. Oh here it is in my bag (again).

Where is the Apple remote? I can’t find the apple remote? Oh here it is in my jeans pocket.

I mean, I don’t actually know what’s the term for it so I just call it forever baby brain?

—-

The boy is a mini version of me for sure. He is half me. While this post is focused on things that may look like bad temperament, rest assure my son is not an a bad child. I just like to self-deprecate for humour purposes.

I am sure he’s got some of mine and his dad’s good traits. Here’s hoping.

Hope you have a wonderful Easter break!

I’ll speak to you next week!

 

xo

WCM