The Terrible Threes?

I don’t know what’s going on around here. My formerly sweet 3.5 y.o. son has morphed into a teenager overnight. Emotional outbursts, tears, name-calling, aggression, refusal to eat, streaking, night-waking – all out of nowhere! What the heck??

The other day, for instance, I picked him up from preschool like I always do. We were getting out of the car and I noticed a couple of empty juice boxes on the floor. (Nothing out of the ordinary, sadly.) “Let me grab those and throw them away,” I said casually. I picked them up and tossed them in the nearby garbage can.

Then Miles went nuts. And that’s putting it mildly. “NOOO!!!! I don’t WANT you to throw them away!” he screamed, tears of rage streaming down his cheeks. “NO, MAMA, NO!!” He then proceeded to kick the trash can until it fell over, spilling garbage onto the ground. What the … ?

Chalking it up to low blood sugar, I ignored him and carried the baby into the house. Miles followed, and seemed to have calmed down somewhat. I made his lunch and he began eating it silently. I poured him a cup of milk without him asking. (Normally, he begs for milk, chugs it immediately and then wants nothing to do with his food.) When he noticed this, he said, “Why did you give me milk?” Me: “Because I know you like it.”

Round 2 of losing his sh*t: “I don’t WANT milk!! I don’t wanna hafta pee!!” More screaming, more tears. I couldn’t keep myself from laughing. This child has never passed up milk in his LIFE. And as for the peeing? That’s our excuse for not giving him more milk right before bedtime. At this point, I’d lost my patience and sent him to his room. There was stomping and door-slamming and other assorted ugliness. I half-expected a pack of cigarettes to fall out of his pocket.

I repeat: what the HECK?! It’s not like this was just a bad day, either. There have been a handful of other uncharacteristic, out-of-the-blue outbursts recently. Even at school, which was a first.

My son used to be a champion eater, too – he once declared veggies his favorite food – but that’s all changed. Every meal is a fight to the death over every little bite of scrambled egg or chicken. He would consume an all-popcorn, fruit, and milk diet if we let him. But protein? Forget it.

I know you’re not “supposed” to battle with kids over food, but I see no way around it. The “let him starve, he’ll learn” philosophy leads only to meltdowns and more stress for me. And yes, I realize that it’s a power struggle, but I think I do a pretty good job of offering my son choices and letting him have SOME autonomy.

And don’t even get me STARTED on the clothes. When he’s not stripping naked and running around the house, he’s having a hissy fit over a certain pair of jeans or an uncool shirt. (Basically, anything without a truck, dinosaur, or superhero on it.) The kid would live in his pajamas if left to his own devices. We may have a budding Hugh Hefner on our hands.

Plenty of people warned me that the threes are even worse than the so-called “terrible twos.” (Thanks, people. Helpful.) But I don’t know what you’re supposed to do about it. Fortunately, there are glimpses of Miles’ former personality in between all the drama. When he snuggles up next to me to read a book, say, or kisses his baby brother on the head. Other times I catch myself thinking, “Who is this pajama-clad punk and what have you done with my son?”

PIC O’ THE WEEK: “Check out my new choppers. And, yeah, I know how to use ’em. Mommy’s got the teeth marks to prove it.”