It would appear that turning three is a nightmare.
I don't remember so I can't really say.
But the hot mess of misery my Bean has been since Monday...the actual DAY...and today...the day that Doc Hubby and I are hauling 44 tons of shit to the park for a party for hopefully four kids but we'll see if one gets lost on the way since his Nanny has no idea how to find a street and a cross street...so maybe only three.
I mean cupcakes suck. Presents suck. Making your own pizzas sucks. Pizza sucks. Spray parks suck. Parties suck.
We apparently suck the most.
No wonder she's so miserable.
Terrific threes, huh? Someone text me when they arrive.
I just heard a kid wailing from the street below. Five stories down. Pretty sure that was her.
I'm about to go sweat off the ten pounds of weight I have gained this summer. Except that I'll simultaneously put twice as much on eating cupcakes and tiny whale fluffernutters.
Oh and finally. Sarcasm doesn't work with three years olds. So my biggest weapon is basically rendered useless.