Life after two.

Two was a tough age, one rife with tantrums and shit fits galore and I really didn't think it could get any worse. As Lil hurtled towards three, people kept telling me to cherish the two year old paddies because three year old ones were worse. Pah! As if. What a fool I was to laugh in the face of the experts.

Three started off ok, or at least I thought it did but then the painkillers I've been taking for the last few weeks may have softened the blow (anyone know of any back street dealers selling the good shit? I've run out...). She's a good kid when she's good, a delight. Her wit improves with every week that passes and she will wipe the floor with you if she's in one of those moods. And then last week, it all went tits up. She was a really horrible little shit and it just so happened it was the weekend I really needed to her behave, at my best friends wedding.

I've never wanted to throw her or myself in the sea so bad. Her divvy little shit fits made me see red and so I grabbed her and whispered, harshly in her ear, that if she didn't behave I'd throw her in the sea so the sharks could have their dinner. Silly really because I've probably shot myself in the foot with that one, we'll see when we visit the beach next. Then, fifteen minutes later, she kicked off again... 'You see that tower? I will lock you in it and the witch will come and be mean to you and turn you into a slimy frog.' I won major shit parent points that day, if anyone heard me (which I'm sure they did) I dread to think what they thought. Little fucker though, the thing these kids push you to say. I did the childish thing of pulling faces at her too. Nice one, Charlotte.

We can't be wholesome parents all of the time though, can we? That would just be boring.

So a month into three, I'm nodding my head in agreement that three is a pretty shit age. But on the flip side, she's so much more fun when she's not being a total pain in the ass. Swings and roundabouts, as they say. But it ain't no fun fair. Or playground. Whatever.

Here's to the new challenges each year brings. And to wine. All the wine.


  1. I got Tramadol. You want in?

  2. Oh dear. What am I in for. Crap. Luckily the two year old melt downs are only really happening when the boy is hungry or thirsty or doesn't want to go/stay/go to bed/stop playing with the hose...and so on. Hard enough to kid wrangle at two, can't imagine at 3.

  3. Oh lordy! Albie decided to have a tantrum in the night and I shouted at him "you're going to drive me into an early grave if you carry on" so now my husband thinks I'm suicidal. I was so angry!