Three is a difficult age. Tiny is really asserting her independence. And her authority. Weeing on everything when she's literally pee'd off with us. I wish I was kidding.
She's Tantytown Superstar. She's over tired. She loves getting her own way, and she loves letting us know about it.
Tonight I was moving the living room around a little, and Matt and I discussed moving some furniture to make some space. I said, ok I think I am ready to get rid of the wardrobe (that is currently in our living room - yeah go figure - but it has a story). So get rid of the wardrobe, or Tiny. Matt's very quick reply: "We can store things in the wardrobe."
We're fatigued with this little assertive three year old.
At the best of times, she is a joyful little being. So full of wonder. Skipping ahead - learning so much, a delight to be with.
At the worst of times she has me screeching at the buckets of water on the bathroom floor that takes me countless rounds of mopping, letting her know I'm not happy about the yoghurt being massaged into the carpet, the drawings on the wall.
And then soon she will be four, and I will miss the mischievous, crazy-fun of a three year old. Yearn for her to be smaller again. I already do that now.
I feel like the grumpiest mother ever to walk this earth. I'll try to screech a little less this week.