My daughter is 3 going on 15.
Nothing new here, I know. It’s that age. Still, it amazes me how downright strong-willed and opinionated and unwilling to budge an inch she is. What makes it worse is that we argue. Full-fledged arguments, where I tell her no and she insists yes and by the end one of us is crying and running off to slam doors and the other wishes that kind of behavior was acceptable on her end. A good door slamming might alleviate a lot of stress.
This doesn’t just happen once every now and then. It’s all day, every day thing.
So while I would love to say my days have been quieter while the boys have been at school and I’ve been to able to accomplish a list worth of to-do’s, I’m more often than not attempting to breathe. Recooperating for the next round. Because how dare I try to put her feet in clean socks when these dirty ones here are better, or she’s on her 76th YouTube video of laughing babies and I just can’t take anymore so here, let’s just turn it off for now, OK?
No, it’s not OK. And oh, all hell breaks loose.
But then she climbs up in my lap and wraps her arms around my neck, making sure both of mine are wrapped around her. The embrace is tight. For a moment, then, we slow down and she’s simply my 3 year old beautiful little girl.
Until the next round.