Three Isn't Easier the Third Time

No, three isn't any easier the third time. You would think, by now, that we would have the hang of this whole parenting gig. It's three. It's a developmental phase. We will get through it. Sure.

Oh dear Lord, I just hope we make it through. Three kicks us in the ass. It is my worst age. It is the age my children morph into demons. The age of tantrums and outright defiance. It is the age of a whole lot of time outs. Three is exhausting and feels never ending.

Yes, our dearest third child Griffin is exemplifying all that three means to Chris and me. He is spectacularly three. And we are already counting down the days until he is four.

Tonight, Griffin was in rare form. Chris had put him to bed, without books or cuddles, as retribution for his behavior on the car ride home from hockey. Griffin screamed and howled at the top of his lungs in protest. It was unbearably loud.

While Griffin raged, Chris and I crawled into bed with Brennan to give him a few moments of pre-bed snuggles. Brennan was beyond delighted to have us both in bed with him at the same time. His face glowed as he directed us where to lay on his bed. He pushed me over towards him as he pulled Chris over to the middle of the bed. I couldn't quite figure out what Brennan was doing, but Chris and I indulged him good naturedly.

After we were placed just where Brennan wanted us on his bed, Brennan sighed with contentment.

"Now," he said softly, "I can cuddle with you both together!" He put one arm around Chris and his other around me and gathered us close to him.

As we all snuggled together in Brennan's bed, I remembered Brennan at three. My sweet, cuddler, joyful five year old boy was also once spectacularly three. Let's just say Brennan did three with a vengance.

It gives me so great hope that we may actually find the light at the end of this third tunnel. And I can only hope for a sweet four year old Griffin waiting for us in its wings.