Look at that sweet, innocent boy in the photo. As most of you know, that’s my son, Rowdy. He’s 3. Rowdy is my first born, and I’ve been so fortunate to have him as my little bud. He’s kind, not aggressive, soft spoken (usually) and shy around strangers. I’ve become accustom to a very peaceful household, which is an important thing to me, in general. But now I’m afraid it’s happened. My little angel has transformed into a threenager. Yes, having his baby sister in the house now causes more commotion than we’re used to, but he seems to cause just as much these days. He’s dramatic, acts traumatized nearly every time I tell him no and can bring himself to tears over virtually nothing at all. He even acts put out and embarrassed by me at times, particularly during Mickey’s Hot Dog Song dance. We used to dance together to that oh-so-catchy tune, but nowadays when I begin to dance he says, “Hold on, mommy! Hold on!”, with his hand up in a talk-to-the-hand sort of way. I’m being dissed by a 3-year-old on a near daily basis. The attitude and mood swings seem to be at a higher level when he’s hungry or when his daddy is out of town for work. So that part seems pretty logical, but there are also plenty of times in which I simply can’t figure out the trigger. Surely there are some sort of hormones involved. I mean, I’ve been pregnant twice. I know hormonal behavior when I see it. But in all seriousness, Rowdy is still my sweet boy much of the time. When I realize I’m dealing with the threenager instead of my kind kiddo (ha) I simply do one thing…my best. I think I can handle this phase as long as he doesn’t tell me to “take a chill pill” (do kids say that anymore?) or “you’re ruining my life”. I know they say to save the drama for your mama, but I say, give mama a break…and a drink.