(Sometimes) I'm really tired of being a mom (to a three year old)

Of course, you only capture the sweet moments to preserve for posterity, right?

Just over three years ago, I wrote this post about a particularly difficult day with a just-4-week-old Lily. Today, it's easy to read that post over and laugh--it seems now that everything was so much easier then, so much easier when my sole job was to nurse and change a diaper and rock an infant. In that post, I wrote these words: "Today, I've figured out that sometimes I hate being a mom of a newborn who can't tell me what she needs." Funny, I thought that sentiment was just a passing phase, and, in many ways, it was. But, in so many other ways, it's exactly where I'm still living today.

Three year olds are tough. I thought we'd been spared the "terrible twos," but it turned out they'd just been delayed as a surprise to arrive in the form of the "tyrannical threes." It wasn't until Lily turned three in February that we introduced time-outs, that we experienced the angry slaps of a tantrumming toddler, that we began to worry breakable objects in the living room might be thrown in a fit of rage. It wasn't until three that going to the potty became an exhausting battle of wills and that getting dressed was an athletic event requiring much the same stamina as a decathlon. It wasn't until three that that phrase from three years ago began echoing in my head again: "sometimes I'm really tired of being a mom to a three year old." 

Perhaps the hardest part for me--for someone who thrives on logic and likes knowing answers and can find a solution to most problems after a quick Google search--is that there's nothing even remotely logical about a toddler.

Does she know when she has to pee? Yes.
Will she respond appropriately when I ask her to go? No.

Did she eat meatloaf last night for dinner? Yes.
Will she eat it today for lunch? No.

Did she refuse to wear anything that wasn't green yesterday? Yes.
Will she deign to look at her green leggings today? No.

Did she play by herself for 30 minutes with her Little People yesterday? Yes.
Will she unwrap herself from my leg long enough for me to pee today? No.

And on and on it goes. Of course, there are things that make this phase easier that cannot be denied. When we're with my parents, they happily take her for hours on end--much to everyone's delight. We live in a neighborhood where there are always other kids to play with (and moms to commiserate with) no more than 50 feet away. And I'm married to the most phenomenal man--the one who has currently taken her to a lighthouse and instructed me to do "whatever will let you recharge right now."

But none of that changes how hard this moment can feel--how isolating and exhausting it is, how inadequate and impatient I feel, how hard it is on our marriage and our family when we wake up every morning, armed for a battle that will arrive when it's least expected. And so, once again, not much has changed since that day in March 2014 when I first wrote a post much like this one, so I'll end it the same way.

I'm doing my best, little Lily. We'll get the hang of this yet.