Specie Study: The 3 Year Old Boy

My tribe, as I loving call my troop of children, is composed of three little humans. The eldest is a 4 year old girl. She is a trip in her own right. Next in line is a 3 year old boy. Lastly is my sweet little 4 month old boy. Today I wish to write about the one whom I have decided has recently became a specie all his own. Any other mother of a toddler/pre-school age boy knows exactly what I’m talking about. Now I love my little “T-man” as he calls himself. But in recent months he has become one “unique” character for lack of better terms.

I like when people have these sweet little pictures of their small boys on various social media outlets. All cute and innocent looking. Don’t get me wrong, my little man is a sweety. He is adorable. He acts as though I’m the best thing since sliced bread. This happens some days. I also have a very strong willed, stubborn, ornery, high strung, dirty little being living in my home. These two sides don’t always balance the other out. Gone are the days of the little baby boy in the blue doggy romper. That chubby faced baby has evolved in to what I’m really pondering if it is a human sub-specie, possibly going back to something more Neanderthal.

You see all these cute little quotes about little boys. Examples:

boy

This example was found on Pinterest

However I believe the following is an entirely much more accurate depiction. I apologize for it being harder to read, however I think you get the gist.

zombie

You often see “Boy: dirt with noise on it.” It doesn’t really go in to depth with how much dirt nor how much noise is on this boy. I can tell you the middle tribesmen is composed of a LOT of dirt and a LOT of noise. Dirt from digging holes, playing in sand piles, mud from mud pies, etc. And as mother, it is my duty to participate in these activities with him or he becomes hostile. Don’t get me wrong, he’s fun to play with but sometimes he goes a little over board.

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Making mud pies, which were later used as weaponry.

 

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An infamous sand pile picture.

I’m pretty sure dirt, mud and sand oozes from his pores some days. Which leads us to one of his least favorite activities, bathing. If I let him have his way he would maybe, maybe bathe monthly. Part of me wants to blame this on when he had infantile psoriasis and he was not to be bathed more than two or three times a week. However, I know truthfully it’s because he is a little boy, trying to exercise his “freedoms”.

While on the subject of grossness, bodily functions MUST be brought up if I’m going to do my currently most uncivilized justice. Any burp, fart, poop or urination is great source of amusement. If he has any type of flatulence that you don’t acknowledge he makes sure to bring it to your attention. Poop of any origin or form is enough humor to last him days and his new habit of peeing “outside like a man” and attempting to make shapes disturbs me. I’m not gonna lie. Thankfully he is not a bugar man, I don’t know if I could take that much gross in a forty five pound package.

Moving on to the differences I’ve noticed with my Taylor. His appetite is one that cannot be tamed. That boy can eat. Thankfully he’s not picky. Other than mushrooms, which I blame on his father, he will eat anything. And large amounts of anything. Once, in a moment of complete immaturity of his parents (hey we slip sometimes) we tried to see how many chicken nuggets he would eat. I’m not going to lie it was impressive and he then didn’t eat for a few days. I believe the grand total was eleven. He also can down large amounts of hot dogs, yogurt and peanut butter.

Noise, oh the noise. I think this is just pre-school age in general. I’ve yet to encounter a quiet pre-schooler. I think they’re kind of like unicorns, non-existent. We have enough screaming, shrieking, laughing, squawking and yelling to make up for every house on this street.

Taylor also has a huge interest in doing everything like his father. He plays with his farm set for hours. Thankfully we are finally getting glimpses of spring and he can hopefully do more farming outside with his dad and ‘pa then pretending on my dining room table. He has taken to eating meals by his farm set so he can both continue playing and protect it from his sister. When he does the “real deal” it burns much, much more energy.

As I watch him and think sometimes what a struggle it is with him some days. You can’t become to frustrated with the little guy, when he knows he is up to no good he’ll bat his huge eyelashes at you, giving you the cutest little “Bambi” eyes.  I realize these days won’t last long. He’ll hopefully take up bathing regularly on his own some day, simmer the noise down a little and not eat me out of house and home. Then I hear Henry coo and it reminds me of something. In 2 years, 8 months and 22 days I will have another 3 year old boy.

 

 

 

 

 

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