I just want to go cry in a corner, in the dark, until I spew.
So it turns out that the terrible two’s are merely a warm up act to threenagehood. The threenage years are when your cute little button alternates between being the sweetest little monkey in the world and being a monkey with full blown rabies. Possibly some sort of super mutated strand that even Science Fiction writers haven’t imagined yet. Anything and everything is a potential crisis situation.
“I want chocolate.”
“We don’t have any chocolate.”
“Give me chocolate right now!”
“Honestly Angel Cake we don’t have any.”
High pitched squealing where you are worried the neighbours will call DOCS followed by hysterical crying until they throw up followed by you regretting your no chocolate in the house stance. And then it’s breakfast time…
Prior to this transition I’d never heard of the term “Threenager” and to be honest I hope it passes soon. Most of the time she’s the sweetest little angel on Earth but these extreme terrorist attacks are exhausting. After the threenager stage is over it better be smooth sailing until the teenage years. If there is some kind of “Fournado” I will seriously have to consider becoming a high functioning alcoholic.
Ugh. As always any fellow Mad Cows are welcome to join my group if because you’re a little crae crae and you have a fanwah then it’s the place for you. https://facebook.com/groups/563402577109194