Threenager

Oh, my Succotash, this morning I was all set to drop you off at the abbatoir. Fortunately, you still don't know what an abbatoir is. But you are VERY THREE. Like, super three. You don't want anyone to tell you what to do, but you also do not want to do it yourself. This morning I brought you no less than six different shirts, each one rejected in turn until we settled on a boring navy long sleeved t-shirt. You wouldn't wear anything with a polo pony on it, because you are NOT PRETENDING TO BE A HORSE RIDER TODAY.

"Please stop shouting at me," I said to your adorable, enraged little face.

Then, it was time for pants. You want SWEATPANTS, you roared. 

"I hear what you're saying," said I, who has learned all my gentle parenting techniques from Instagram. "But all the sweatpants are in the dirty clothes. Do you want jeans, or corduroys?"

"SWEATPANTS!" said my charming, adorable son from his thronelike perch on the toilet.

"They are all in the dirty clothes, and we don't wear dirty clothes to school," I said.

"THEY'RE NOT DIRTY!"

"I'm sorry, but they are. I didn't wash them, and Daddy didn't wash them, and you didn't wash them." 

"NO I DON'T WASH THEM!"

"Please stop yelling at me. We are not a yelling family."

"I'M NOT YELLING!"

"Fine. Here, you can wipe yourself and put your pants on, I need a minute break." I shut door and attempt to put on my own clothes.

*thirty seconds pass*

"Mommy? Moooommy!"

I didn't fully snap until you, pantsless, refused to brush your teeth on the grounds that you were cold because you weren't wearing any pants. 

"I'm THROUGH WITH ARGUING WITH YOU," cried your frazzled Mommy, who picked you up, shoved cough medicine into your hand, and then brushed your teeth without singing the tooth brushing song.

"Mommy, do you still love me?" you asked me when both our storms had passed. 

"Oh, Charles," I said, kneeling down to give you a hug and feeling like absolute garbage. "Of course I love you. I love you all the time. We still love each other even when we are angry with each other."

You have your doubts. I worry that you are getting the message that you have to be happy all the time to be loved, which I definitely don't want you to feel. The truth is, it's *because* I love you so much that your roars of disagreement and rebellion and impatience and frustration make me despair.  

What I appreciate about you, though, is that you see through things. All the parenting advice says to give you choices, which makes you feel empowered. This shirt, or this one? You are aware that this is an artificial construct. You know there are other shirts. However, I'm at a loss how to convince you things are factually the case when you will insist they are not, if you do not want them to be. Sometimes we are just completely out of apple cider, and no amount of shouting at me "WE DO HAVE STICKY DRINK" will make it true.

New remark you make: "Ohhh, right, riiiight," in the manner of someone being reminded of something they momentarily forgot. I don't know where you picked that up, but it's funny.

Recent ideas of yours: this morning you lifted your head from my boob (oh, you are still not weaning, don't even get me started) and said "I have a great idea!" "What is it?" "We should build a treehouse!"

You also think we need to get juice boxes. I have promised to take it under advisement. 

Finally, on our drive to school this morning, happily with our coffee (me) and smoothie pouch (you), listening to Sidney Bechet ("I used to listen to this when I was a baby," you told me. You also told me you really liked it, which is fun. I love that you love jazz), I heard you giggle apropos of nothing.

"What's funny?" I asked you.

"When Piggy and Kermit say, follow that snake! That was so funny," you said. You are obsessed with Muppet Babies, and so today I learned that your brain works, at least in some respect, like mine - that you memorize movies or TV shows and sort of rewatch them in your mind's eye, and with enough verisimilitude that you can make yourself crack up.

Right now you are home with your dad while I am parked in the waiting area of the Toyota dealership getting our flat tire fixed, thinking about you. I think about you all the time. Every day. Almost every minute. I am sometimes overwhelmed by how much I love you. I know I cannot be a perfect mother, because perfection isn't possible, but I'm sorry I wanted to drop you at the abbatoir. You are my very favorite person in the whole wide world, and I will always love you.