I can no longer say I’m in my early thirties. I now have to use a term that I admit I am not too enamored with.
So there I was, mid-thirties and all, having a birthday. Helping to make it better, Vince proclaimed it was also his birthday. Repeatedly. Like this.
V: “Mummy? It’s your birthday! Happy Birthday. And it’s my birthday too! I made you a cake (he didn’t). I’m gonna eat it, in my tummy!”
That certainly took the sting out of the big 35.
Last year we hit up Disney World and stayed at one of the resorts for a few nights, having a sort of mini-holiday for my birthday. It was so amazing that we did it again this year. We checked in to the Caribbean Beach resort Friday afternoon, hitting up Epcot as soon as we were unpacked. It poured.
And by ‘pour’, I mean dumped. Yup. The weather gods took a huge poop on my Friday night. So big, we had to get ponchos. We looked properly idiotic and therefore blended in with all the other rejects we appeared to be surrounded by. It was a glorious parade of food-babies in wet white tee-shirts.
But I digress… We had a perfectly pleasant evening. Well, I did independently of my son while I was watching CAPTAIN EO!!!!!!!!
Yes, that’s right. I took a solo-trip back to 1991 and watched Michael Jackson crotch-whip an alien plant back to life (or the 80’s, however you want to look at it).
And then I went and met up with E and V. And let me tell you, not only am I officially 35, but Vince is officially 3. And firmly in the middle of what is clearly ‘The Year of the Whine’. This holiday summed it up for me, if I was having any previous doubts of it.
Oh my lord. Last year, Vince was SO good during our mini-vacay. And this year, well… He was ‘good’ and holy mother was he ever whiny. I mean, I had heard this about that wonderful age of three, but this was my first full 3 day experience with it. And wow. WOW. We just constantly fought. About everything. Everything we said, he wanted to do the opposite of. And if we wanted to do what he wanted? He then wanted to do whatever was the opposite of that. But what was the most frustrating was how much he wanted to push his stroller around the parks.
Usually, not an issue. At Disney? Huge issue. He can’t see over the handles. He doesn’t care where he’s pushing it. And if you help him steer, he throws an enormous fit.
So please, picture us trying to cruise Epcot. Vince, pushing the stroller through the bag check, ramming it into posts. The girls at the gate, declaring him adorable because he told them “I’m just pushing dis ober there”. And then, every three steps, the stroller being rammed into something, occasionally people among other things. We ditched it in France and Vince cried for 10 minutes. And then was so poorly behaved I was just appalled.
He finally passed out hard. Apparently, bad behavior was a combo of exhaustion and being three. And post-nap he was angelic, proclaimed repeatedly “Mummy!!! I give you a kiss and hug!!!!
I can’t decide if it’s The Year of the Whine or The Year of the Bipolar Three Year Old.
Hopefully, its also The Year of the Extra-Patient Mummy. But, I think, isn’t it always that year?