Three Years Nine Months
October 2, 2008
Three years nine months is the age of crazy. Your personality resembles that of a schizophrenic crack head. One minute you are on the top of the world, the very next you are so upset that you have no choice but to scream and make sure that everyone in a two mile radius knows of your displeasure.
You have developed a really bad habit recently of standing in front of me whenever I am talking to someone, either in person or on the phone, and interrupting me as I talk. I have tried ignoring you, but you just up the ante and start smacking my stomach. If I ignore that you reach up and grab my boobs. That one is harder to ignore. Turns out being felt up by a three year old is really distracting for all involved.
So I have now begun sternly saying, “No” to you whenever you interrupt me. The first few times you looked at me like I was nuts. What is this word you are directing at me, woman? And you proceeded to headbutt my pelvic bone and have screaming hissy fits that were probably even worse that being molested by a three year old. I look like a very mean and inattentive mother now since you continually test me. But at least now you stop and wait patiently to say, “Mom, mom, mom” over and over again.
You dress yourself now. I want to tell you this so that one day when you are grown and look back at photos of yourself you don’t go on and on about how your mother dressed you in crazy clothes. You did this to yourself. You pick out your own clothes and your latest obsession is to wear red baseball socks. With shorts.
If anyone asks you why you are wearing baseball socks you answer, “Because I am a BASEBALL guy. Duh.” I know I shouldn’t laugh when you say “Duuuuuuh.” I know that it is rude. But I can’t help it. It absolutely kills me every time.
The other night I was telling you to pick up your toys but you were more interested in watching the Misadventures of Flapjack on television.
So you said to me, “Why don’t you just shut-up!”
There was a collective gasp in the room from everyone but you.
“Miles, that is very rude. You do not tell Mommy to shut up. Do you understand? I was TALKING TO YOU”
And I swear to God, Miles, you looked at me and said, ” Well, why don’t you just SHUT UP!”
I ushered you off to a time out while giving your siblings the stink eye for laughing, though truth be told I was laughing on the inside. You sat in the corner crying and quietly saying over and over, “Well, just shut up!” As if the whole incident could have been avoided had I just stopped talking to you. Which I suppose is true.
You love to talk. And talk and talk. I am not sure what else to say about that other than my ears hurt.