I hate labels. I really hate them, labels such as helicopter parent, authoritative parent, permissive parent or the good old don’t give a fuck parent!
However, threenager is a label I can get behind. Threenager describes my son to a tee. I thought the terrible twos was bad! 
Child crying with terrible 2 in training wrote on the top.
Threenager is worse. Yes, now we don’t get the incredible tantrums that we did when he was two. He is stimulated all week at school and loves his independence away from me. However, he is now so very ‘helpful’, and wants to help mummy whenever she is doing anything. Such as putting the washing powder in the washing machine I always act so grateful, “wow, clever boy, thank you so much” whilst I am cleaning up the trail of washing powder, he has spread in the 2 feet between the box and the machine.
And don’t get me started on school! He had an amazing two-week break at Christmas but I consequently got no work done! The house was relatively clean don’t get me wrong, but only in the places you could see. (for god sake please don’t look under the rug). So, I stupidly thought when he went back to school the first thing I would do, would be to clean the house from top to bottom and then start work on all the admin I had missed out on over Christmas, Oh the joys!
However, the first day he went back, I slept. I was so exhausted after all of HIS late night’s and all of HIS partying, that I just couldn’t. The second day he brought back a little gift. Just for me and his daddy. He brought back the lurgy! Oh, my word I have never felt so piggin ill. So, two days on the couch eating only tomato soup and drinking endless amounts of coffee, would have been just the ticket! However, my husband had other ideas.
It always works out that I am poorly when he’s half way through his rota. I am pretty sure someone up there that makes these decisions is sadistic as fuck. The first day when I felt so ill that the only thing I could do was sleep, my husband was on afternoons. Now you think afternoons that sounds like a good shift. I am here to tell you it isn’t! He had to work from 3pm till 11pm. This means he missed out on the school pick up, the making of the tea and yes, the dreaded bath time.
One of those bath times where your very helpful threenager, decides he wants to help. I didn’t honestly have the strength to fight with him, or the patience to argue. You can imagine the chaos that ensued. He has these glorious bath things, that make the water any colour you can think of. There is about 300 in a pack and he got them from Santa at Christmas. The only problem was he wanted a rainbow! Now these bath colours are not magic, as my son seems to think, they mix together in the bath to make the colour you desire. I can honestly tell you me and my son did not desire the poo colour that the bath inevitably turned, after my son decided a handful of bath colours would make the rainbow he wished for.
Meltdown time just when I didn’t need it. I had to wrestle him out of the bath and into his pyjamas, whilst the whole time maintaining my sanity. This was not easy as my head felt like it was full of cotton wool. Thank god for PJ mask pyjamas.
The next night was slightly better. My husband, as kind as he is, went into work early to help out a colleague. Yes, I was still dying but luckily for me he was there for the school pick up and making the tea. However, when he left at 6pm I still had an hour to go.
Normally this isn’t an issue, but watching iggle piggle when your head is already spinning, reminds me of the time I read that book, about the girl who was on an acid trip.  Luckily there was no bath time to contend with, so no poo coloured bath water either. At this point I was exhausted and did what every parent does when they feel like death warmed up. I let him play on his tablet until bed time. BIG MISTAKE! This meant he was over stimulated when it came to closing his eyes. Half an hour it took running up, and downstairs putting him back into bed. I tell you something, I was ready for bed myself after that!
Now it’s not all bad. We have some epic conversations. Just like the conversations we have when he leaves school for the day. He always tells me if he has been on the cloud (the naughty spot). Most of the time it’s no he hasn’t. He then proceeds to tell me who has been on the cloud and exactly what they have done to deserve it. Then he ever so cutely judges those poor souls who were caught out.
Young child with a planet
This also means he is getting quite cunning with his cheekiness. You know the times when they do something that’s a little bit naughty but highly hilarious. Such as the time he ran up to me in the kitchen, slapped my bum and ran off laughing. Now I know this is the point where you sit them down and tell them, smacking people is wrong. But his little cheeky face said chase me chase me. So, then we started a tickle fight, and ended up in a heap on the floor, in fits of giggles.
I love our little times that we have, when we end up in a heap giggling and laughing and I know it’s not going to be long before he is too old for all of these sessions, so I am cherishing every one of them. Yes, this threenager stage won’t last forever, and I know he’s not always going to want to help me. The time is going to come when I have to bribe him with money, to get him to put the washing powder into the right drawer, and the bath times are not always going to be rainbow (poo) coloured, and these are the times I will cherish when I look back on them. However, when you are full of the lurgy and feel like you’re dying, there is nothing that you want more, then some silence and a hot mug of coffee!
coffee cup, orange peel and tablets
If you would like to read more of my musings about motherhood you can do here.
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Do you have any epic stories of your threenager? I would love to hear them. Pop them in the comments section below. Xx

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