Threenager, this is the term that best relates to what is going on in my home. Don’t get me wrong, my toddler is typically very well behaved, especially when compared to a lot of children his age. Regardless, there is no denying that he is three.
As to be expected my morning consisted of rushing around, trying to pick up toys here and clothes there. I fed the baby, put myself together and attempted to get my older son ready to go. The little one was already occupied with our babysitter but I couldn’t seem to shake his brother out of bed. Every time I tried to do so, I was met with the following responses.
“I’m trying to sleep.”
“I’m just tired, and I’m trying to sleep.”
“Okay, I’m getting up.”
When he finally shook the sand from his eyes he came up to me, looked me square in my face and said, “geez, I was just trying to sleep because I’m tired.” I wish I could illustrate the amount of teenage angst I heard in his voice.