Three-nager.

I often heard the phrase “terrible twos.” When my son turned two, I heard over and over again how interesting and frustrating my life was about to be.

To be honest, I thought age 2 was a breeze. I wondered if I might be some lucky parent whose child would skip the terrible two phase, or maybe we were just THAT good of parents. Our son wasn’t terrible, he was pretty much delightful.

Then age 3 happened, and I started to question every parenting decision I’d ever made. I felt like I didn’t even know my own kid anymore.

Age 3 saw the first REAL tantrums. The ones that had no logical cause, that would cause him to cry until he was gagging, that would cause me to leave the room and shut myself away just to prevent myself from screaming back at him.

Age 3 saw my sweet, delightful little son discover his inner sassy pants. All of a sudden, he was talking back to us, arguing, telling us no, and deliberately not listening.

Age 3 saw pouting when he didn’t get his way. Rolled eyes, crossed arms, giant “humph.” And for the first time, I didn’t think my kid was the most adorable thing God ever put on this earth.

Age 3 saw daily power struggles. Everything was a battle. Every morning was a process to get ready. Every outfit was an argument, even when I let him pick his own clothes. Every meal was a debate. Every trip to the store zapped my energy just convincing him to stay in the cart.

Age 3 was the first time he told me “I don’t like you anymore.”

Age 3 was when he decided he wasn’t going to take naps anymore. None of my previous tricks to get him to sleep worked anymore. Oh, and timeouts in the corner no longer worked.

Age 3 was the first time I ever really felt irritated towards him. The first time I ever really wanted a break from my own child. And it was definitely the first time I felt like I was not equipped to do this parenting thing. On more than one occasion, I would sob in my car on the way to work because I was disappointed for losing my patience yet again.

More than once, I found myself crying because I didn’t handle a situation the way I wanted to. Pregnancy hormones do NOT mix well with a back-talking three-nager.

But you know? He’s really not a baby anymore. He’s learning how to be a “little grownup,” as he likes to tell me. He’s trying to figure out his place in the world and learn his boundaries. He’s learning how to decide things on his own and be independent.

And I’m still learning too. I’m not going to get everything right. Age 3 saw me praying more than I ever have. Age 3 humbled me a LOT. Age 3 reminded me of the importance of grace… for myself and for my child. Age 3 taught me even more about unconditional love.