Bear and I had quite the rumble today. He's three. And his daddy's son (translation: very stubborn).
He's a smart kid. I'm not saying he's the next Einstein, but he can hold is own among the pre-school crowd.
Our battle today was about him counting to 10. He can count way beyond 10 so this wasn't a difficult task. It was just a task he didn't want to do.
I was shocked at the frustration and anger that he brought out in me today. I'm normally fairly patient with his meanderings, and I know how to get him motivated.
Once he was in bed and looking like an angel fast asleep, I was mulling over today. Why did it get me so upset? Why was I letting a 3 year old's need to be in charge run my day? I'm the parent here. Right?
Then, I realized he had tapped into my biggest fear.
A dumb kid.
No. I was a Special Ed aid during college vacations. I loved some of those sweet kids.
A lazy kid. A kid that doesn't try. A kid that doesn't want to be smart.
Then, I talked to my mom and was reminded that he's 3. And, he'll grow out of that.