When G was a precious baby, everyone was all "oh, just wait for the terrible twos". (why do people insist on ruining a new mother's joy??). And, I have to say...it never happened. Garrett was delightful....sleeping on a regular schedule...cheerful...obedient. A trifecta of positive behavior, if you will. I'm not sure if it's accurate historian-ism on my part, or if it was just the fog of sadness that clouded my memories. But he really was a great 2 year old (and 1 year-old, and baby, actually). I'm sure it was the good Lord watching out for me...knowing I needed to be spared the behaviors of a typical two-year-old, lest I jump from a cliff--seeing as how I was too busy hooking up heart monitors and drawing up medicines for Lilah to discipline Garrett.
But, oh. my. Why did no one warn me about 3? As we are rounding the corner to 4, I feel like I can say with an honest, non-over-re-acting opinion, that the 3-year-old-boy (or at least mine) is a creature for which I was unprepared. I have loved children forever, so mine were not my first. I was prepared for the fits over not getting his way, difficulties with change, and trouble sharing. What I was not prepared for was the intensity and duration. (I am thinking now that this applies to life in general, huh?) Or the disobedience. Or the sassiness. Or the unpredictable emotions.