I don’t remember the ‘threenage’ years all that clearly with JJ although I was plunged into the newborn juggle at that point and I’m pretty sure there were some testing times! Just lately I have had the
pleasure pain of a full re-introduction to just what the age of three can bring to the unsuspecting parent. One minute you’re minding your own business, going about the old routine, the clothes, the breakfast cereal, the inevitable choice of Cbeebies brain freeze, when bam! Out of the blue, displeasure, defiance and downright dissention rear their ugly heads.
No longer will new clothes be greeted with delight, only the holey old joggers will do. Unless your cereal resembles a crocodile’s foot it is, essentially, fit only for the worms. If I say ‘milkshake’, I mean ‘milkshake’ – back away with your flipping smoothie!
As a result of this trying new phase I’ve dedicated this little verse to everyone who finds themself a little taken aback that its not, after all, all about the ‘terrible twos’:
Three… is the magic number?
It’s a form of torture,
A walk of shame to a place called ‘Time Out’
An hour of ‘witching’ to endure
before blessed slumber
Three – it deserves a warning,
It takes on defiance
This odd figure – a child no longer a baby
Still angelic first thing in the morning
Three – independence is looming
Understanding and reason
lurk tantalisingly round the corner
but meanwhile a strop is brewing
Three – it’s a bittersweet pill
laced with cheeky joy
But unconditional love, sleepy cuddles and
counteract this battle of wills.