Tomorrow, at 11:10 PM, my daughter turns three.
It’s been an interesting year. We’ve had to switch child care, enroll in speech therapy, and dole out a decent amount of discipline. She even starts preschool next week.
But I’ve learned why some people call it the Terrible Twos.
I’ll admit my child is spoiled. She gets all the fancy toys my husband and I had wanted for ourselves while growing up. But I’ve tried to keep her from becoming a brat. It hasn’t been easy.
Often times I’m caught between ignoring tantrums (with the philosophy of not rewarding bad behavior with attention) and just putting a stop to them. It really depends on the situation. Kimi threw a bowl of yogurt across the kitchen the other day. Since Daddy was the one dishing out the yogurt, he left her to cry on the floor after a stern “no!” I waited a full five minutes before I squatted next to her, told her to stop crying, and started counting. Kimi stopped crying.
Yes, Mama is the mean one. *sigh*
But more than the trials, I remember the giggles, snuggles, and serenade of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. I watch her chase the dogs around the backyard, splash in the pond, and build houses out of cardboard boxes. She pours me tea, hacks my Google account, and accuses me of being stinky every time my husband passes gas.
Those precious moments are the ones I cling to, because three years have flown by way too fast. It terrifies me to think of how much has already passed me by.