Real talk.

Turn away if you are not ready for some honesty. 3 is tough. It is such a bipolar age. The tough part of it came on so suddenly, right in the midst of me feeling like I was rocking the mom thing (about a month before he officially turned 3). 

3 reminds me of those newborn moments where I felt like I was in the impossible, nerves on edge, jumping at loud noises because my anxiety was sky high from all the screaming.

3 is amazing. It is play-do, nursery rhymes, laughing at fart jokes. It is a lit-up face when he hears we're going to the children's museum. It is him pretending to read, pointing to words on the page and trying SO hard to figure it all out.

3 is defiance, rage,  and compromise. It is sleep anxiety. It is constant assertion that everything must be done his way. It is seemingly endless tantrums even when things DO go his way. It is feet-kicking, red-faced, wailing insanity at times. 

3 is creative. It is putting a paintbrush to paper without worrying about the final outcome. It is wanting to color all the time. It is singing, and the occasional head-bop to a song. 3 is love. It's how excited he gets when he gets to see the people he loves. It's him saying "I luh you too, ma." It's reading in forts and always wanting to use a flashlight and binoculars.

I know this is all part of the process. I know the capabilities to deal with emotions aren't immediate. They take time. Hell, I'm not sure I'm one to talk on that front. We will get through this, even if both of us end up crying on the floor some days.