A Reluctant Goodbye to the “Terrible Threes”

As I watched my son happily bound into his classroom last week, it hit me like a ton of bricks. The bedtime binky is gone. No more Pull-Ups that smell of sweet baby powder. His endearing little Boston accent is fading fast. My face gets hot, and my chest starts to tighten; the anxiety and panic take over. WHAT. IS. HAPPENING? It feels like too much to handle, but it’s definitely unavoidable. I no longer have a toddler. My baby is officially a preschooler.

I know what they say about the “terrible twos” and “trying threes,” and how they’ll turn your hair gray before your 30th birthday. My son is definitely no angel. Over the last two years, we’ve had more stand-offs than I can count. I’ve learned that the stubborn, tenacious, and passionate apple does not fall far from the tree. I’ve carried him out of grocery stores SCREAMING and THRASHING like a possessed sack of potatoes. I’ve cleaned up puddles of pee at the mall, hid in my bathroom during tantrums, and cried myself to sleep because I could not get him to eat.

Thankfully, I felt pretty prepared for a lot of these rough patches as I knew I would survive them, like so many moms before me. What I was not prepared for, however, was the daily heart melting, uncontrollable happy tear inducing, and constant adorableness that would ooze out of my son 24/7.

We spent the majority of this year soaking up every moment together before he started preschool. Weekly trips to libraries, museums, zoos, parks, etc. Anywhere he could explore new surroundings and make new friends. I watched as his little brain rapidly took in the world around him.

This is the year he fell in love with dinosaurs and dancing outside in his rain boots. He can tell you anything you want to know about sharks and has a huge soft spot for the turtles at the Burgess Shadbush Nature Center (Bonnie, Pancake, and Darth Vader). He has a serious chocolate chip addiction and loves to be snuggled up in his towel after bath time. He wants to FaceTime with his Grandma and Granny every night before bed, and we must read exactly three books before I tell him a story. This involves us turning out the lights, pressing our foreheads together, and recapping EVERYTHING we did that day. I lay there until his breathing is heavy and his eyes are closed. I usually steal one more kiss and sneak out.

I know that these moments cannot last forever. I see little pieces of our mama/toddler routine slipping away every day. As much as it hurts to let go though, I know he needs to flex his independence. Yesterday at Target he asked for “pee pee privacy.” Although my first instinct was to shout “PRIVACY?! EXCUSE ME?! You don’t get privacy from your mother!,” but I smiled and took a deep breath instead. I realized that when I talk, he is actually listening to me.

As a first-time mom, I don’t really know what to expect for year four of motherhood. As it rapidly approaches, I feel panic, excitement, and the sudden desire to invest in a nighttime wrinkle cream. I know that so many moms cannot wait to say goodbye to those “terrible threes,” and I cannot say that I blame them. My only hope is that there are still boo-boos to kiss, silly nursery rhymes to sing, chocolate chip pancakes to make, and a perfect little forehead forever pressed against mine. To me, this isn’t so terrible at all.