Being a parent to a 3-year-old is quite the experience. There, I said it—no choking or laughter involved, and I stand by my words. I think.
Let me elaborate.
My daughter just celebrated her third birthday, and now she confidently displays the correct number of fingers when asked her age, proudly declaring “I’m three years old!” [emphasis on her enthusiasm]. Many times throughout the day, this curious little being enters “The Fire”—a state of being that my partner and I have come to recognize. A simple glance between us is enough to signal the impending chaos, prompting us to prepare for damage control.
When Alice is engulfed by The Fire, everything is at risk. We’re quick to elevate the dog to safety, grab our oblivious baby son, and remove anything throwable from her vicinity. For what feels like an eternity—like 5 to 7 days, but I might be exaggerating—Alice becomes a whirlwind of energy: hitting, biting, throwing, singing the Frozen soundtrack, and occasionally laughing or crying, ultimately settling into a reluctant acceptance that nothing is sacred anymore.
Seems pretty standard, right?
However, this behavior has persisted for quite a while, long before she turned three. I had stubbornly held onto the belief that hitting another milestone wouldn’t suddenly transform her into the chaotic force I was warned about. Wasn’t she already there? And isn’t it peculiar that we categorize these developmental stages into 12-month spans based on the calendar when they’ve barely been around for a fraction of that time?
The realization hit me during a grueling 36-hour stretch without preschool (or maybe it felt longer due to a time warp), while juggling my baby son, Liam, who had just started teething. The heat soared above 100 degrees in a town that panics over anything above 75, and I began to see the truth: my three-year-old was indeed going to be the end of me.
If you currently have one of these little beings or have survived the storm, you’ve likely discussed how the so-called “terrible twos” are a misnomer, and that the real challenge begins at three. “They can be little monsters,” you’ve likely heard or even said, describing these tiny tyrants with a knack for creating chaos with little regard for normalcy. Threenagers are simply larger two-year-olds armed with an expanded vocabulary, rollercoaster emotions, and an insatiable urge to resist anything that adults deem necessary—especially in stressful situations.
I admit I may have been a bit overconfident. As she neared three, my daughter was already feisty, fearless, and always testing boundaries. She started talking early and hasn’t stopped since. Her love for conversation is so great that when she runs out of things to say, she invents new words, delivering them with the cadence of a seasoned conversationalist. The linguist in me is fascinated, but the parent in me is begging for a moment of silence.
She checks all the challenging boxes for her age: temperamental, manipulative, defiant, loud, and occasionally downright naughty. A few recent incidents include:
- During her baby brother’s first solid food experience, when she felt neglected, she suddenly yelled, “Who wants butter?!” and grabbed a stick, smearing it all over her hands and munching it.
- She once slammed her door during a tantrum and proclaimed, “I am Alice, and you are my family!” followed by, “I am Moana!”
- Crying hysterically when her puppet friend, Pickle the Raccoon (named by my partner), couldn’t come to preschool, she now insists on puppet play every waking moment.
- After refusing to eat a bowl of beans, she threw them on the floor, but when asked to clean up, she crawled on her hands and knees, picked each one up, consumed them, and then belched as her triumphant finale.
So how have I come to embrace this age? I’ll call it “The Flipside.” While The Fire often overshadows it, countless moments fill me with joy and wonder. Like when she reminds us to blink during a movie (it took her months to learn), or when she affectionately calls my partner and me “you guys,” or “my people.” She’s the only one who can calm her crying brother and even once told me, “Papa, my poop was so big, and you’re proud of me, right?” Her fierce love for friends and family, her boundless energy from dawn till dusk, and her spontaneous ballet performances are delightful. And then there are those tender moments when she holds my hand and says, “You know, Papa? I was thinking today. I love you.”
Yes, I cherish The Flipside, and it keeps getting better. As long as it balances out The Fire, I believe I will survive. Those chaotic moments, like the butter incident and the beans? They’re already part of our history, and I love looking back on them. So yes, I genuinely enjoy having a three-year-old.
But do check in with me in a few months to ensure I’m still standing.
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Summary
Parenting a three-year-old can be a chaotic yet rewarding experience. While “The Fire” embodies their wild, unpredictable nature, “The Flipside” reveals the heartwarming moments that make it all worthwhile. Balancing the challenges and joys of having a threenager is part of the adventure, and it’s a journey full of surprises.
Keyphrase: Parenting a three-year-old
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