Ok, so nobody ever tells you that the Terrible Threes are oh.so.much.worse than the Terrible Twos. Three *may* just turn me into a Child Abuser*.
The Bear will very shortly (like in a month and change) be Three. I am in Agony.
At almostThree, she can:
say her alphabet and write (trace) all the letters
count to 10 (sometimes 12)
dress herself (and undress herself)
get up on the toilet to potty with no step stool, potty seat, or assistance
open the car door, climb up in her carseat, and buckle herself in
carry on extensive conversations on the strangest of topics
sing several songs (albeit off-key), including many of her own devising, and *play* the piano to accompany herself
express her affection in wonderfully sweet and bizarre ways.
She can also:
whine - seriously, it's almost like a cross between a whine and a wheedle, this hideous, drawn-out, nasal thing she does
argue, complete with reasons (however illogical) and counter-argument
throw a temper tantrum that requires Delta-Force countermeasures
demand things in an imperious voice that would seriously make the Queen step lively
stage a sit-in worthy of Greenpeace
sass with the fluency of the most cynical teenager
make me so angry I grind my teeth in my sleep
be the stubborn-est, most obnoxious, most annoying person under four feet tall on the face of Mother Earth.
Truly, I don't think I can convey *exactly* how obnoxious she is. Try this: she's so obnoxious, even her doting Grandpa put her in time out today. Does that help?
*Disclaimer: I do not now, nor have I ever, nor will I ever, abuse my children. But. Sometimes, I really want to. Come on. You know you do too.