The Advent of the Three-Nager
Today, my three-year-old threw an almost thirty-minute tantrum starting with me putting him in his proper car seat and escalating to the fact that I wouldn’t open the door of the third row of seats in my car. There is no door to the third row. But try explaining that to a toddler screaming and crying as loud as his little lungs can facilitate. There is no rationality. It just takes waiting out. Which I have learned over my years of having toddlers. I am learning patience and to be unflappable. When Jasper decides that the smallest thing is not at all to his liking, I have to let go and be the rock to his crashing waves of emotions. This is not something I have always been good. But Jasper is affording me many opportunities to practice. In the last week alone, there have been screaming tantrums over not bringing his hot chocolate in to Costco for him to drink despite his own very firm refusal that we leave in the car. My refusal to purchase the millionth dump truck cause paroxysms of tears in the line at Barnes at Nobles. And anytime I allow him to fall asleep in the car for an afternoon nap means that a deluge of raw, furious emotion with inevitably follow. As someone who has always espoused the theory of letting people feel all of their emotions, I have definitely been slammed in the face with my own resolutions and asked to confront how they integrate into parenting.
If I am being totally honest, being a parent to my oldest son, has not always been easy for me. Atty is a wonderful, extroverted, energetic to a fault, child. All lovely qualities. And he is such a great kid, I know that. With every day I know it more and more. He has turned out even more exceptional despite having a shaky and insecure mother for so long. I hate to share this and do it now only because I believe that I have overcome and grown into a MUCH better parent that I ever was. When I was a young, first-time mother, I was lost. My own mother had died only a few years previously and I felt the loss of her as a mentor and confidant even more acutely as I moved into this new and totally alien role. I have a terrible habit of idealizing my situations and future. Now, in moderation, this isn’t the worst thing. There is nothing wrong with being a dreamer and someone who wants to world to be a wonderful thing. However, the problem with this habit is if it is your constant state, there is constant disappointment. I had no idea how hard being a mother would be. I had always love children and mothering everyone around me. But I was not prepared for the brokenness that I expe3rienced. The brokenness of my body afterwards, the misery and extreme pain that nursing caused, the alien body I saw in the mirror with a softness I had never known and had been taught to hate, and the exhaustion of a baby that never slept more than two hours together. Those were only the physical struggles. Emotionally, I was destroyed. This role that I thought I would fall into as naturally as breathing, was beyond my capabilities. I was lost, I was scared, I was angry, I was trapped, and I was so, so alone. Resentment bubbled and bloomed. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. The more I felt like I was a terrible mother, the angrier I became and the quicker my mothering skills went downhill. And this was only in his infanthood.
When Atty was not quite three, my dad passed away. I had spent much of his year of being two caring for dad. My time was full of doctors appointments, filling prescriptions, meeting with the trust lawyer, tracking the expenses, facilitating medical equipment and so much more. During this year, Atty spent much of his time with his exceptional Gamma who, I am beyond grateful for. Atty was the first grandchild and so, was given the gift of her undivided attention for years. Their bond is the most beautiful and fulfilling I can think. Of course, there was always that little twinge of sadness when he clearly wanted her over me but, my capacity for motherhood was already reduced and then with my responsibilities to my dad, I was at almost zero. And who wouldn’t want the person who devoted every moment to your happiness? I certainly would. And looking back on it, I couldn’t be more grateful that she could be there for him with that when I couldn’t be.
After the long months of illness and decline, dad passed away in October. While there were many, many things still left to be accomplished, the day to day of responsibilities vanished and I was back to being the full-time mom that had always been intended. The problem with this was, not only did I have the hurt and failure of the years past but now I was carrying the guilt of having abandoned my little boy for almost a year and the deep hurt of having been now fully abandoned by my own parents. There was no one to left to parent me anymore. And now I was supposed to recover and grow as parent when already on shaky ground. I had to start over in learning this little human and, he was about to turn three. When he did, three hit us HARD.
In my opinion, the “Terrible Twos” is a misnomer. At two both of my boys began to understand that words were more complicated that just something to blurt out to name something and be oh so adored by their brilliance. Both of the boys were very advanced, in their linguistic skill, forming sentences and speaking as clearly as any older child. All that being said, two did not bring the advent of the attitude that can be placed behind words to give them the sharpness they can truly hold. Two gave them more words in their arsenal but it did not give them the true meaning and power behind them. “No” didn’t mean an immobile block to any further activity. It just meant a little persuasion was in order. But three, oh my, three. Three brought the consciousness that “no” truly meant something. That saying “no” was deeply powerful. And that their opinions are more that just a flash of something but a firm and lasting firmament. And with those opinions come the attitude behind them. And thus, are born three-nangers.
The upmost quality to deal with toddler teenagers is patience. And that I did not understand or have when Atty was three. I was completely spent. I had no energy for the smallest of tasks and the task of parenting is the biggest of tasks. I muddled through but as I did Atty and butted heads leaving us both figuratively bloodied and battered. Every day included a prostrate tantrum rife with screaming on both sides. I didn’t know how to stop it. I didn’t know how to not be affected by it. All I wanted was that he did what I asked him to do and didn’t fight me. But he didn’t and so we fought. It was the hardest. I failed over and over. My poor, sweet boy. I didn’t know how to do it right. But eventually he grew out of it, and we followed a path. A path that still wasn’t what I wanted it to be, but I had no other way to do it. Until I was given the out and the rescue of medicine.
Now, as Jasper screams, and cries, and tells me I am the meanest momma, I am eternally grateful that I have a well of patience to support him with. I flash to Atty and wish that I had this same steadiness and expanse of energy for him. I am struck with the extreme unfairness of it all. And then remind myself that Atty and I can move forward with this well and I can give Jasper that I couldn’t for Atty. It gives me the ability to sit on the floor in the Barnes and Nobles line and explain over and over why we aren’t going to buy yet another construction vehicle today. To stomach the toddler statement that I am mean and that he is terribly mad at me. I am able to support his big feelings and to know that they will pass. I am his safe place, and I am grateful for that. And I am grateful to the lady in the line behind me who told me in the kindest and warmest voice possible that am doing a really good job.
