Tyrannical Threes

I'm glad I was forewarned that three is the age that once sweet kids become living, breathing nightmares. At least a few mom friends let me in on this little secret when I was breezing through what was supposed to be the "terrible twos". I remember one friend's eyes growing dark as she told of her loving little girl suddenly screaming "I hate you!" when told she couldn't have dessert before dinner. Paxton had always been on the dramatic side, regularly breaking down in screaming fits when, say, a friend took the drum he was playing with in music class, or a kid stood too close to him while he played with toys during library storytime. I had long since stopped being embarrassed by these antics. I couldn't imagine that three could be any worse. I had a handle on my little one's theatrics.

Or so I thought.

Some time just before he turned three, Paxton started morping into a super villian. He took great pleasure in purposely disobeying me, even adding an evil laugh to the act. He watched Dora the Explorer regularly, and while he picked up a bit of Spanish, he was most influenced by the mischevious little fox, Swiper, who endlessly stole things from his frenemies just to make their lives a little worse. Paxton thought Swiper was the coolest thing since remote control cars. He oftentimes would run up to me, grab my car keys and throw them across the room saying, in a naughty tone, "Ha, ha, ha! You'll never find your keys now!".

Paxton's sense of humor has also gotten a little more warped. He finds it hilarious to frustrate mommy and daddy by squirming, wiggling and going boneless while we're trying to dress him. When I was pregnant, I was afraid I'd go into labor from all the struggling and contorting I had to do just to get his pants on him. Since then, I just try to guard my C-Section scar (to no avail). Lately, I've started instigating time out when he resists getting dressed. I'm not sure who suffers more when I put Paxton in time out. My life is suddenly in a holding pattern. I have to sit quietly and pay him no attention while he screams, reasons and begs for his freedom. I go into full Supernanny mode and silently lead him back to his time out spot every time he dares to get up (often) and make a run for it. Tonight he was really pulling out all the stops, shouting "Mommy, you hit me! You hit me mommy! My arm hurts!". He said that every time I led him to his spot by his arm. If he knew how to do it, I have no doubt he'd be calling CPS.

Our parrot, Bartok, gets concerned when anyone cries. While Paxton was having his meltdown, Bartok said, "Are you okay?". Paxton normally ignores the inquiry, but tonight he must have been feeling isolated while Mommy stared at the clock, ignoring the tantrum just as Jo Frost instructs. Paxton answered Bartok saying, "I'm okay, Bartok. Mommy is making me sit on the floor. I'm on the floor, Bartok!!!". I had to take his chair away, because he was trying to bend the rules, dragging the chair all over the house while in time out. Since I had to start over every time he moved from the time out spot, the three minute punishment turned into nearly 30 minutes. We were late for a going-away party for some friends. It was a high-stress time, but I knew if I backed down, he'd run all over me next time. Three-year-olds sniff out weakness and are not afraid to go for the kill.

Luckily, Paxton still has plenty of moments when he is the light of my life. He's funny, brilliant, sweet, creative and unique. I am daily awed by his wonderful personality. And in the moments when I'm wondering where my sweet boy went, I remind myself of all the books and magazines I've read that assure me that this is a normal, even positive stage in every child's development. He is testing his boundries and asserting his independence, figuring out his place in the world. It's not pretty, but it's necessary. And it can't last forever, right? Right?