Terrible

Right, let’s get this shit straight, right now shall we?

  • Toddlers, specifically two-year olds = The Terrible Twos (spoken in a Dracula type voice).

Mm hmm. Cool. I know what’s coming. Plenty of people harp on about the TT’s. I can mentally prepare for this. I can buy a book patronisingly entitled How To Tame Your Toddler or some such bollocks. I can stock pile wine and Cadbury’s, I can double up my medication, I can get my 8 hours of sleep in. I’m fucking READY for you, Terrible Twos. You’re gonna regret messing with my kid. BRING IT.

But what I was not, and am still not ready for, is what is happening now. The Bean has gone turbo, it’s all kicked off, the shit’s hit the fan etc etc. My problem is Bean is three years old (plus three months) and I absolutely, most certainly was not ever prepared for this. As far as I know, there is no name for this, so I am christening it:

  • The Tyrannical Threes (Trademark pending).

I’ll be completely honest here, I’m struggling to even like Bean right now. At times it feels as though he’s been switched in the night by an evil alien being, sent to emotionally exhaust and inevitably destroy me.

I love my son, I do, more than I could ever put into words ‘ere, more than I could incoherently say but Lord Almighty he is testing me. For what I don’t know. I failed miserably at the Patience test, I skived the Energetic Mum test, and I copied someone else’s answers on the Newborn to One test. I couldn’t even list here what it is he is actually doing that is so naughty, because pretty much EVERYTHING he is doing at the moment is bad. It’d be easier and more time-saving to list the good behaviour. Which are as follows:

  • Hm.
  • Eh…
  • Um…
  • Fuck.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not focusing on the bad only and ignoring the good things he does, I always praise him, if anything I OVER praise. I praise him for crossing the road with me, or tell him he’s a good boy for stroking the cat instead of wearing her like a furry scarf. I lost it this morning, after me making a quick dash upstairs to go to the loo, when I thought he was momentarily preoccupied, he sneakily followed me like a special agent and proceeded to jump on my bed, shout while his sick dad was still asleep and throw all the clean, folded washing down the stairs. All while I’m still doing up my jeans and telling him to stop.

I say “lose it”, well I can’t properly Lose It anymore can I? No, I didn’t slump to the floor swigging from a bottle of cheap pink wine, slurring threateningly and crying uncontrollably. Nah. No, I sighed a big sigh, which by the way, the test for Sighing I fucking ACED, took him downstairs and grabbed a wedge of paper and every single brightly coloured felt-tip I could find, even the dried up, scratchy ones and proceeded to make a reward chart.

Bean watched me with suspicion and refused to join in, just watched from the sofa with narrowed eyes while I doodled questionable pictures of suns and cats and rainbows like a woman possessed. Evidently the art student in me has cleared off long ago, in search of red wine and boys with stupid fucking hair, the slag. ANYWAY, we (by which I mean, I) finished the chart, proudly stuck it on the fridge as if it was the answer to all our problems, and told him if he gets X amount of stickers, he can get a nice Playmobil toy. See how desperate I am? Bribery. My parenting book will be out in all good (and bad) book shops this coming Winter, don’t get your knickers in a twist.

Of course, it didn’t sodding work. Of course, he’s fucking sussed me right out. Of course, the little naughty alien he’s been swapped with couldn’t give a toss about shiny stickers or small plastic German toys. It wants to see me crumble, it wants tears, it wants whispered conversations between me and my OH in the kitchen which essentially involve us dramatically gesticulating and pleading “What the fucking hell do we dooooo?” to one another in hushed voices. It wants me to sit in the corner with my cold tea, and after climbing on me, biting me, pulling off my glasses one too many times for me to say “Just give mummy 5 minutes, please.” in a scarily despondent tone.

He’s been ignoring everything I say for a good few weeks now, to the point today, in my utter desperation I was clicking my fingers by his ears to be certain that he can actually HEAR me. Yup, no problems there, he turned around and looked quite annoyed and asked “Mum, what are you doing that for?”

I’ve tried the naughty step and the cooling down spot. I’ve done counting to three and looking all mean. I’ve tried reward charts before. I’ve tried taking toys and treats away when he’s bad and giving them back when he’s good. I’ve tried to talk to him so, so many times to try to wheedle out of his little head WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? But nope. Nothing. Not a sausage.

I even, get this right, honestly, it’s a fucking good one, said to him the other day “When you don’t listen to me, you make me sad.” Yup. Yeah I did. Take that parental disappointment weight on your tiny little shoulders, son. It actually made him cry. I’m a fucking monster, seems the Bad Mum test was another good’un for me. But please, buy my book? What do you mean the deal’s off?

I am officially at the end of my rope, my tether is long gone and I’ve had it up to here *waves hand above head*. Is this an unspoken thing? Are the Tyrannical Threes real? Or just in my house between 6am and 7pm? Is there a toddler boarding school or boot camp I can send him to, preferably orchestrated by Mr Tumble? Or is it just yet another phase that’s totally and utterly sucker punched me?

I’m going to drink some pink wine, bitterly swear at all my parenting books, before throwing them at the wall and crying myself to sleep again. Haha. JOKE. *weeps*

 

 

18 comments Write a comment

  1. I am right there with you!! Pops was lovely until she turned three. Now she is EVIL! I like you have tried all the methods and I am starting to give up. I feel we should simply shut them in a room x

  2. Oh lordy! You are not alone! My 3 year old has been going through the exact same phase recently. Literally, I mean literally, from the day after his third birthday last week, he has transformed! I even resorted to pulling out the super nanny “Confident Toddler Care” book off the shelf and rifled through it to see if I could glean some secret, that I must have missed some how. But nothing. Nada.

    I’m choosing to be optimistic and am hoping that this really is a phase. If it’s not, then I’m off to the doctors for happy pills and will be looking forward to the two hour group therapy sessions a week, purely so I can escape for a bit!

    Hang in there lady!

    • Nothing is there? Why call it the sodding terrible two’s?! It clearly doesn’t stop! Gahhh, I’m hoping it is a phase, I’m afraid he may cause me to have a nervous breakdown if not!! xx

  3. That made me laugh so much, sorry, but I’m laughing with you! I had exactly the same with Little F, Terrible Twos then off the fucking scale at three. It was like he’d had a personality transplant, he was horrible, growly, sulky, moody, unfriendly, just horrible. I have no words of advise that I gleaned, as I burnt all the parenting manuals when my first child was about 6 weeks old. However, he is now 4 and a half and back to the lovely smiley sweet cuddly boy he was pre 3. All I can suggest is spend the rest of his 3′s drunk so you don’t notice. Worked for me. x

  4. I may aswell go into hibernation now. Princess isn’t even two yet and already I can’t handle her.. Im what they would call fucked.
    Clearly I have no advice, I’m clueless. My idea of time out is to stick her in a chair in front of the tele with a milkshake just so she’ll SHUT UP!
    I felt so bad for laughing at the part where you made your son cry. Shall we be monsters together?

    Excellent post dahhhhling x

  5. So I’m laying in bed, minding my own business catching up on some blogs (what? It’s my ‘me’ time init) after THE WEEK FROM HELL™ that saw my nicey nice nearly 2 year old Bean literally spew and scream and spew and spew her way to being a heady combo of terrible twos + petulant teens + cowbag (= give mummy wine). And then I read this.
    Oh shit.
    Thank you once again for the laughs but oh please god no – why (how!) can it possibly just keep getting worse?!
    And when will they be old enough to at least make us cups of tea and stroke our hair while we sob and rock in the corner because of all that they put us through?!
    *wimper*

    • Oh sweetheart! I’m sorry… but it’s tough love I’m afraid, I’m imparting this knowledge to HELP! Hahaha. Or summat like that. Maybe. I’m organising a mass mummy runaway soon, we’re gonna leave the kids to fight it out amongst themselves whilst we drink cocktails and watch like the Hunger Games. It’s gonna be great!

  6. Pingback: Terrible Part II |

  7. Thank fuck its not just me, honestly could have written this word for word, my naughty alien is 3 years 5 months and is exactly the same.

    Thank you for giving me a shred of sanity back, I lie here awake at 5am thinking I’ve failed somewhere, I’m a procrastinator lol. When actually its possibly a stage that those gone before us have hidden in the cloud of terrible twos like a cheap shot of mwhahahaha, just you wait! Lol. It’s 5am, sleep escapes me, hope some of the above makes sense.

    • Would be nice for a bit of forewarning wouldn’t it! Or just christen it, terrible toddlers, I honestly had no idea he could be this bad, and that it wasn’t just him, so for that thank you – we can do it! Hopefully we haven’t spawned axe murderers :)

  8. What a nightmare! When my eldest was approaching 3, a friend with an older child, who also worked in a nursery, took me aside and warned me… 3 is worse than 2. But reward charts have always worked for my kids. I would have thought they would have seen through them by the age of 9 or 10, but apparently not.

  9. I’ve been feeling sorry for myself and wishing back the toddler years (mine are now Tweens)…..after reading this, I’m not so sure, it’s all coming back to me! Good luck :)

  10. Oh dear, did no-one tell you about Threenagers? Just like their teen counterparts, only with way fewer mates to take it all out on. I’m wishing you luck, good humour, and an endless supply of pink wine. He’ll be gorgeous when he 4.
    Sorry, I know that’s not much comfort!

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