Three is the Longest Year

December has come and gone in a rush of cold air, some torrential downpours, and freakishly unpredictable tantrums.  They are like tornadoes.  They come out of no where, lift up your life, and tumble it into the air, never giving a hint as to where it will land again.  For all we know, it won't.

Three is the suckiest of all the years we have encountered so far.  As far as cuteness levels go, they plummet at this stage, not because the kid ain't cute...he's adorable LOOKING.  It's the horrible temperament.  The terrible, awful, painfully unlikeable personality that goes along with three is like someone pulled another kid out of yours and left you with two.  One has the ability to make your heart explode with love.  The other?  Netflix The Omen.

Along with three comes his one and a half year old counterpart, who still has his new baby smell.  He iss also still adorable, still cute as a button, and still devoid of the stench of being awful three.  Not that I expect this to last, mind you, as the three-year-old is trying his best to convert the one and a half year old into his minion.  It's slowly starting to work, too.  No matter how much I try, there's always something he can get by us.  Three is very sneaky, you see.  Three knows he will eventually need someone to drive the getaway car when he robs the local bank.  It's been planned since the day we brought his brother home from the hospital.

Potty training has gone...no where.  Basically, we've decided that he's just messing with us at this point.  He knows when he has to go.  He CHOOSES not to go where we want him to.  He says he likes diapers.  I like them to, until I get the bill at the end of every friggin' month for nearly $100.  My husband is ready to throw him in underwear, tell him there are no more diapers anywhere, and to play a kind of poopy "chicken" with him until he gives up and goes in the toilet.  I, on the other hand, am not thrilled with the prospect of throwing feces stained clothing into the wash every three hours or whatever ridiculous amount this stupid standoff will take.

The Battle of Three will go down in the annals of history as the grossest, smelliest, most exhausting year of our lives.