Three years olds are funny little beings. They're compact, they're adorable, they're funny, they don't need deodorant yet, and let's just agree with Bill Cosby that Kids Say the Darndest Things.
They have very distinct personalities at this age, and if you have a wild one, you know it.
I have a wild one.
You might call her "spirited." I know there are more of her out there. She's not wild as in, she's going to knock over the paper towel display at the grocery store and scream and have a throw down in front of the bananas. She's wild as in you'll ask her to do something and she'll turn around and tell you precisely why she's not going to do what you just asked, she'll tell off any kid on the playground before they lay a hand on her or her sand bucket, and if her dad or I make a mistake, well let's just say we'll hear about that too. She's a force.
And I'm not going to lie. I'm a little afraid of what the teenage years are going to be like. Like I think about it at least once a day afraid.
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