After a weekend of tantrums and death stares from the Threenager, I decided to write down the things that provoked meltdowns. 
When a friend asked what was up with her, I couldn’t actually pinpoint what had started it.  And so this blog began as an exercise to establish triggers that we could work on avoiding. 
My mission was to try to figure her out. 
My mission was to beat the strop.
My mission, as it turned out, was pretty darn impossible.

It has however, been informative.  It has made me realise that Mini-Me is quite capable of losing the plot over the most ridiculous things ever. 
Here are just a few that we recorded since yesterday morning…

1.  I called her by her name. 
I kid you not.  Her answer was to scream at me “Don’t call me a THAAAAAAAT!” 
Silly Mammy.

2.  I asked her if she’d like some Brioche... 
Again, “Don’t call it Brioooooooche!”  I have a witness to this one.
Silly Mammy.

3.  I plaited her hair.
She asked for french plaits.  She stood still while I put two perfect plaits on each side of her head.  She even handed me the hair baubles.  Then, she looked in the mirror and screamed “I SAID PONEEEEEEE TAIL!!!” before pulling the pretty plaits out.  I almost cried.
Silly Mammy.

4. I couldn’t find the tiny piece of Blue tac that she insisted on bringing home from school last week.
She decided she “neeeeeeeded” her “best fwend Mr Bluuuutac.”  Cue 20 minutes of crying on the living room floor.
Silly Mammy.

5. There were bubbles in her milk.
Not much to be said here is there?

6.  I referred to her Baby Annabelle as a “Doll” and lifted it by the head…
Silly Mammy?
Seriously woman…

7. I didn’t drive around the roundabout…
Because I was turning left to go home.  But apparently, I should have gone “wound da woundabout!” 
Silly mammy.

You see the pattern?
Of course you don’t,  because THERE IS NO BLOODY PATTERN!!

So what did I learn?

She is irrational.  She is illogical.  She is slightly crazy. She is completely unpredictable.   She is slightly terrifying.

And there’s no point in trying to figure her out, because if she’s going to throw a strop, it’ll happen regardless of my best intentions to thwart it.

Because she’s three.

And at those times when I want to tear my hair out and I feel like I am absolutely and utterly mental… it’s not me, it’s her!

I am Seven-ways-to-provoke-my-Threenager Mum

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