What it’s really like having a 4 year old.
I still love you.
You are a phenomenon
I will never leave you
Let’s snuggle & play on our iPads.
What’s it really like having a 4 year old? It’s like biting into the most delicious vanilla cupcake. All the sweet words, the grand pre-schooler gestures, the witty comebacks, & the charm. But then like all delicious vanilla frosting creations you realize it’s doing nothing for you. Its manipulating you with its swirly top & colorful sprinkles. It goes right to your thighs, your middle, and your ass. With their manipulation, disrespect, sneakiness, & general “fuck you” attitude a 4 year old is like that cupcake.
I go to bed with sweet memories of a 4 year old dancing in my head and wake up to an asshole. I’m whispering that last part because I don’t want the judgmental mothers of infants & toddlers to judge me. Once they hit 4 they’ll understand.
When Phoenix was almost 2 we went to the zoo for one of those perfect family days. Dressed all cute, hot husband on my arm, adorable tot. It was that picture that every single lady envies when she’s between lovers. But underneath those adorably hip toddler clothes was a defiant little 2 year old. So defiant in fact that when I calmly told him he couldn’t get out of his stroller he decided to put money in his mouth. So strong-willed slight asshole-ish kids I know.
But this 4 is different. He’s mouthy, he’s huffy. He slams doors, stomps up steps, tells me I’m the meanest Mom in America. He burps & farts at the dinner table & thinks wondering what life would be like if we were made of poop is actually a thought provoking theory. I’m constantly reminding him that even though his mind might be telling him one thing the calendar would strongly argue against the fact that he’s a teenager.
I’m yelling at him more, obviously. Both out exhaustion & generally multiple kids is hard angst but also because OMG you are 4 and you are mean. But he works me over with those tears & the “you love Caspian more than me” insert sad face tears. And I buckle. Bad Mommy. Bad Mommy. Hasn’t 4 years taught you anything? You are nothing without consistency.
I’d like to tell myself that it gets better, but I have teenage siblings. I know better than that.
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