Forget the "Terrible Twos," Fear the "Three-nager"

Everyone talks about the “Terrible Twos” like it’s the final boss level of toddlerhood. But seasoned parents know the truth: it’s not the twos you need to worry about—it’s the threes. Welcome to the world of the Threenager, where the attitude, independence, and sass are dialed up to eleven. It’s like living with a tiny, irrational teenager who’s demanding, relentless, and very, very particular.

Let me paint a picture for you: You’re in the living room, savoring a rare moment of calm as your little one plays on the other side of the room. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll sneak in a quick rest. You reach for a cushion, gently slide it under your head, and then it happens. They see you. And suddenly, in a move worthy of a ninja, they march over, yank the cushion out from under you without a word, and walk away like it’s no big deal. That’s it.  You’ve done nothing to bring such contempt upon yourself. It’s their world, and you’re just living in it.

The Art of Demands

Let’s talk about the relentless demands of a threenager. Ever heard of Blippi? If you haven’t yet, don’t worry—you will.  It will only take a few episodes before you come to loathe Blippi with the same fiery passion as any sane person would, so get used to the word because you’ll be hearing it a lot (and him spelling his stupid name will loop in your head in your sleep.) Imagine this: your child approaches you with laser focus, and the following exchange takes place, in the span of about 30 seconds:

“I want Blippi. I want Blippi. I want Blippi. Blippi! Blippi!!”

You calmly say no (as if), and then the meltdown begins. Not a regular tantrum, mind you—a full-scale emotional apocalypse. Nothing, I repeat, nothing you say will stop it. You’ll eventually give in (because you’re human and value your sanity), but don’t expect it to be easy.

You turn on Blippi, only to be met with, “No, not that one!” You try another episode, and again, you’re met with “No, not that one either! The one with the ake-nee!”

“The ake-nee?” you ask, hoping for clarity.

“Ake-nee! Ake-nee! Ake-nee!” she insists.

“I don’t even know what that means!” you cry out in frustration, not being able to guess "bakery."

And so it goes, on and on, with no end in sight.. You find yourself in a hostage negotiation over episodes of a show you’ve never even wanted to know existed.

But it’s not just Blippi. It’s everything. Breakfast, snacks, even who gets what cookie. You’ll take one out of the box for them, and they’re happy. But dare take one for yourself? Cue another hysterical meltdown because apparently, cookies fall under their jurisdiction. 

Speaking of food, meals are the worst.  You ask them ten times if they want anything to eat, and everytime they say no but you 100% know they’re hungry, which is why you’ve asked them ten times as if you really think youre going to get them to say yes to something they should say yes to but refuse to because it doesn’t fall in line with their plan to turn every hair on your head gray before the end of the year.  So you make some toast for yourself, and just as you sit down to eat it, she’ll walk over, pick up your toast, lick all the jelly off, put it back down and be on her way.  It’s as if they have a sixth sense for spotting the exact moment when you’re about to settle in with something, and that’s their cue to strike.

It's not a toddler that you have, it’s an annoying roommate that you can’t kick out of the house for another fifteen years.

Independence vs. Patience (Hint: They Have None)

Threenagers are all their newfound independence — on their terms. They have a voice and they’ve discovered it. They’re eager to make decisions, assert their preferences, and take charge of every little detail of their lives. But here’s the catch: their sense of independence comes with a heaping side of impatience. They want to do things their way, right now, with no room for compromise or delays.  

It's cute when you try to rationalize or make sense of things in these moments.  They'll be insistent that they want to leave the house to “go on an adventure,” but getting them dressed for the journey is like trying to dress a monkey hopped up on Red Bull.  If you're able to catch them – and that’s a big if -- trying to put clothes on them while they kick and flail their arms turns into a physically hazardous task, and the whole time you’re thinking, “You’re the one who wanted to leave the house! I was perfectly fine just staying here, where you could abuse me in the comfort of my own home, where there’s at least a first-aid kit nearby!”

Welcome to the “No” Zone

Your threenager’s favorite word will become “no.” Statistics show that, on average, a two-year old hears the word “no” 400 times a day from their parents -- “No, you can’t put your finger there!” “No you can’t put your mouth on that!” -- but when it comes to a threenager, the tables turn.  Now they’re the one telling you no, and it’s more like 4,000 time per day.  Sometimes they’ll even say no before you know what you’re going to ask. It’s kind of like a mind reader, but a really annoying one.

Parent:  Do you want me to read “Cat in the Hat” for your bedtime story?

Toddler: No.

Parent: How about “Bernstein Bears?”

Toddler: No.

Parent: Do you even want me to read you a bedtime story?

Toddler: No.

Parent: Ok, then I won’t read you one.Toddler: No.

Parent:  That wasn’t even a question…

The Final Verdict

If the twos are rough, the threes are like being thrown into the deep end of a pool filled with Jell-O—confusing, exhausting, and sticky. But here’s the thing: in between the cookie battles, the Blippi wars, and the “no” marathon, there are moments of pure magic. Threenagers are testing boundaries because they’re figuring out the world, and as maddening as it is, you’re right there with them, helping shape the person they’re becoming. They’ll drive you crazy, but they’ll also melt your heart when you least expect it.

So, here’s my advice:

Be afraid, be very afraid.  

I know that’s not advice.  But, again, trying to rationalize or make sense of things during this period of time is an exercise in futility.

Good luck, my friend.