Three-year-olds are horrible.

And by three, I really mean like, two to four.

I’m hoping it ends by four. I guess I don’t really know.

Some of my coworkers tell me that not all three-year-olds are assholes. Which I guess I believe because there are definitely some parents who have these angelic first-children and think that they are god’s gift to parenting and that other parents with asshole three-year-olds are just epic fuck ups. And then they have a second child who is a total asshole and they’re like….holy shit, where did you say you can buy boxed wine?

I’m not sure what it is about this age that makes some kids just become total ass wipes, but I think it might have to do with the fact that they subsist on gummy sharks and cucumber slices, sleep only in small increments and for the most part are not allowed to just shit their pants anymore.

To be fair, those are all things that would make me act like an ass wipe, too.

Mia likes to remind me on a daily basis how unfairly she is being treated by yelling “You’re not the only one!” anytime I tell her to do something she doesn’t want to do.

I’m not exactly sure what she means but I know it’s not good.

And that’s pretty much what it’s like living with a three-year-old. You’re never quite sure what exactly they want, but you can be damn sure you are not complying.

I realize that living with assholes is a part of marriage just kidding I mean life, but the thing about three-year-olds that makes it even worse is that they are still little and cute and manipulative enough to make you feel bad for not giving in to their bullshit.

Yesterday Mia and I had had a conversation that went something like this.

Mia: Mama.

Me: What?

Mia: Mama. MAMA!

Me: WHAT?!

Mia: Mommmmmmmmmy….

Me: What the actual fuck do you want Mia?

Mia: Is it far?

Me: Is what far?

Mia: Is IT far?

Me: What is “it?”

Mia: IS IT FAR?!

Me: Ok, yes, it’s far.

Mia: But is it far?

Me: Mia I’ve asked you a MILLION TIMES to stop asking me the same thing over and over. 

Wait….shit. I think that was entrapment.

Later that night Mia told me she didn’t like this “mad day” because there was too much yelling. And I legit felt bad because obviously.

But after her sad little puppy eyes went to bed I realized I had just been owned by a toddler.

**Act like an asshole. Wait for parent to freak out. Cry. Act like a sad puppy. Make parent feel like they are the asshole. Ask for shark gummies.**

It’s like the toddler code of ethics.

In a span of just 24 hours I have violated the toddler code in the following ways, resulting in extreme emotional distress, screaming, flailing and hyperventilation – kicking, screaming and faux arm and leg injuries.

1. Failed to deliver a sippy cup of milk within .658 seconds of wake up. I ran downstairs when I heard the first scream but the sippys were in the dishwasher, resulting in a 30 second delay.
2. Wrong underwear selection. I put her in the Tuesday undies on a Thursday. Not sure why this caused such a commotion considering she CAN’T READ.
3. Daniel Tiger axed by Netflix. Surely she can understand that this one is OUT OF MY CONTROL. Hahahahah! No.
4. Seventy-five cent SpongeBob toy from the grocery store broke due to excessive force. I even offered to turn around and purchase a new one but “squish bob” as Mia affectionally named him, apparently cannot be replaced.

The list goes on and on but really I’m more interested in the kinds of toddler bullshit your three-year-olds are inflicting on you. So please, go forth and comment and reassure me I’m not alone in this guilt-ridden toddler cyclone of hell.

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P.S. Mia, if you’re reading this, I really do love you. I was an asshole at your age, too. I’d like to tell you you’ll grow out of it but I think Daddy, Yaya and Baba, and most of my friends and coworkers would disagree. You’ve just got to learn to refine it and eventually people will start referring to it as grit and “leadership potential” instead of douche-baggery.

Get it girl.