When you have a 3-year old and they: put their stinky cute little feet in your face (after you've asked them politely not to repeatedly), hit you, hit the dog, kick the dog, tell you they are going to run away (genetic), prefer their father (to the complete exclusion of their mother), prefer their mother (to the complete exclusion of their father), urinate in the avocado plant, again (it's fertilizing mother), throw dirt in your face, scream at you, refuse to go into the (insert any location here), refuse to leave the (insert any location here), refuse to nap, refuse to take a bath, refuse to eat, I could go on.
All completely age-appropriate behavior. When I was a child, he would have been labeled a spoiled brat and beaten into sobbing submission - thankfully humans have the ability to evolve. We'd die before we'd ever resort to any form of corporal punishment. We have a lot of family meetings. We have a lot of dialogue. We ask a lot of questions. His dad is totally amazing. I am less than, but have decided that my purpose here on earth in this lifetime is to cultivate patience within. Oliver is 'helping' with this project. I get to work on myself daily.
We love him insanely, which is really fortunate for all of us right now.
He's 3 feet high and rising, take nothing personally.
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