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Oh, Man. It's Going To Be Bad.

I have a long-held opinion that age two is no big deal. It's pleasant, even. Three, however, is the devil.

Guess who turns three next week!

But, the weird thing is, I've not been scared of three with Mila. I don't know why, but for the most part she has been stunningly easygoing as of late. She's a happy little imp who mostly says what she wants and is then reasonable when she doesn't get it. There's no reason to think that three will be particularly hard with her.


Nothing says "Happy Mothers Day!" like a toddler who suddenly decides that making a scene in a restaurant would be a great idea. I took Alexis and Mila to dinner Friday night because I'm nice and stuff, and Mila returned the favor by turning into a rotten beast. It started with a general need to yell every thought that crossed her mind, and escalated when the food arrived.

You guys, it is totally unacceptable when food shows up on your plate. It's supposed to all be on mom's plate so you can steal it. You can't have your own plate of food. That's dumb.

When Mila's pancakes, eggs, and potatoes (which were exactly what she requested ... not that it matters) showed up on her plate, she was pissed. She escalated from pissed to furious and then angry moved every last scrap of food. Basically, she picked up each little piece one at a time and then threw it all on my plate. When she was done and her plate was clean, she sighed loudly and yelled, "That's better!"

Then she moved it all back.

Because of course.

So which corner should I hide in? I'm ready to start huddling up in the fetal position and rocking until we get past three.



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