Since O hit about 18 months, we've been dealing with what I like to think of as "early onset terrible twos." Sometimes it sucks; it's frustrating and infuriating, and it forces me to be a much bigger person than I ever realized I could. However, I've been told by many more experienced parents that the terrible twos pale in comparison to the threes (they're so bad, apparently nobody has given them a cutesy name yet).
That's all fine and well- it's wonderful to have something to look forward to, right? (eye roll), but sometimes I feel like I'm living with a teenager. Every time I go into his room in the morning or after nap time (always after he wakes up on his own), he rolls over, scowls at me, and shouts "Mommy WEAVE (leave)!!" As I get half way down the hallway, I hear him shout, "Cwose da door!"
He's also become a bottomless pit, his feet STINK and all he cares about are sports and cars. I can tell his interest in the ladies is imminent and inevitable.
Yes. A tiny little teenager. One going on sixteen.