3.5 and 35


When Atticus was turning three, several people sidled up to me and said, “I don’t know whether to tell you this, but the terrible twos are nothing compared to the threes.” Wait, what?! I went out of my way to insist that the twos weren’t as bad as advertised and this is how the universe repays me? Also, why is this not public information?! I needed more time to prepare.

I’m not going to lie, turning three was hard on Atticus (and therefore on the rest of us). He was more volatile and he couldn’t deal with difficulties like sharing, transitions, or anyone looking at him. You know, the usual stuff. Getting out the door in the morning was pretty frustrating, and his hair often went uncombed. A few times I had to strap his underwear-clothed body into his carseat and get him dressed at school because he would calm down there. Clothes, mama, why are you making me wear these terrible clothes? And stop looking at me!

So just imagine how I felt when I read this blog post about 3.5 year olds and how they are even more fearsome than three year olds just a few weeks after Atticus’s third birthday. He has a few friends who are about six months older, and their parents all confirmed for me that 3.5 was basically the worst thing that ever happened to their otherwise sweet and adorable children. Meanwhile, I was shaking in my boots since we were already having a hard time. All spring I pictured the summer as alternating between a screaming match and a grudge match. I knew everything would be terrible and I was kind of bummed that it was the part we would be home for.

But you know what? It’s been mostly great. A few bumps but not the horror show I was expecting. Maybe he worked that nonsense out of his system back in the winter/spring, or maybe we’re wearing him out at the pool, or maybe he decided to go through it when his friends did (syncing their cycles). Whatever it was, it’s been a summer of happy memories at the pool, time with friends and family, and ice cream sandwiches.

3.5 is full of contradictions, the things he says he can do on his own and the ways he suddenly cannot operate any of his limbs when we ask him to pick up his toys. He has trouble trying things that seem hard but there is wonder and discovery. He is desperate to see his friends but after a few hours he can’t really share with them anymore. He can’t stand for his shirt to get the tiniest bit wet but he spends hours playing at the pool. He is as stubborn and sweet as he has ever been. I’m sure that the transition back to school will be challenging but I feel so much more confident about who he is and what we can weather.

Atticus turned 3.5 just a few days before I turned 35, and besides enjoying the symmetry of the numbers, I have decided that we aren’t so different. I have been known to house some contradictions myself, to be a little stubborn and to need some alone time. Here’s to my bright and beautiful boy for defying the conventional wisdom and being not quite as cranky as everyone expects. Most of the time, anyway.

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