I dislike the three year old. It is my least favorite age. Gwennie is no longer my sweet little girl, she is a monster in disguise. I ask her to look at me, she refuses. I threaten and she still will not look at me. She screams at me, she hits. She doesn't want to do gymnastics any longer, even though I bought the costumes for the performance. I have six months paid for by Military Kids, but I dislike fighting with her, and I think we are done with it. I don't want to take Rhayn anymore, because that hour that I sit in the waiting room with Gwennie is the most miserable hour of my week. Gwennie hangs on me, she pulls me, she pokes me. I just want to walk away from her, but I have no where to go. Rhayn seems to love gymnastics, so we will keep going for her. I may let her try again next week, but if she doesn't behave she is done.
I can not continue on like this. I need a break. I need time away from her. At this moment I am done but it isn't quite bedtime.
This too shall pass, right? Its just a difficult time in all of our lives, and I am emotionally exhausted.
Standing there she stares down pretending I don’t exist.
Her small hands at her sides fists clenched her entire body clenched in a rage only known by the very young.
I take her face in my hands, trying to be a gentle parent trying unsuccessfully to be a better, bigger person.
I try to look into her eyes, to talk to her sweetly.
But her fury fills us both slowly seeping into my bones without my even knowing it. I did nothing to spawn this on, but know no way to calm her.
Instead we stand at a cross roads, unable to chose a path.
Each day we do this, each day it drains me more, until I am the breaking point.
Every morning I wake hoping today will be the day when she is angelic again.
When she once again stands there, fists clench, head down I know that she is a willful child and I need to relearn everything I ever thought I knew about children.