the truth about three

Let's have a real conversation about parenting, shall we?  More specifically, about parenting a 3-year-old boy that is very...ahem...spirited.

It's...what's the word? A shitshow.  I say that with love, of course, but this is just the most absurd experience I have ever been part of on a daily basis.  Like an odd sort of self-inflicted torture.  Like the movie Groundhog Day, where all of the weird just keeps happening over and over and over.

There's yelling (from both of us).

There's crying (from both of us).

There's under-the-breath swearing (from one of us).

There's wine drinking (from one of us).

And there's pee on the bathroom floor (from the other one of us).

And then, when I feel like I'm just not going to be able to take it one second longer without having a nervous breakdown...not one more meltdown or tantrum or being told no or pure act of defiance, the little person that I would swear is Joseph Stalin reincarnatedpicks me a flower and wants to go for a walk then tells me he loves me.  Guess who gets some major guilt over the mommy monster display that happened 15-minutes earlier? This girl.

Here's the truth about three: it is hard, really hard, but those 12-seconds a day when it seems a little less hard because there's hand holding and observations and so much wonder, it's worth pulling out the camera so I have the reminders of what it's for.  Life isn't all warm light, peaceful strolls, and living with nature, it's messier and more exhausting than that.  There are deep breaths and mistakes and room for so much more patience and grace.

And wine, so much more wine.

These photos don't show the real three, at least not all of it, but they show the good 12-seconds that make it a little less likely that I'll end up in an asylum when this whole childrearing thing is over.

Cheers to those of you that have a 3-year-old, survived a 3-year-old, or know a 3-year-old.

Solidarity, friends!

xo, Ashley

PS If this was a familiar scene, you might find some humor in this post as well!