To be a mother of a 3-year-old

To be a mother of a 3-year-old is to be in a constant state of negotiations.

These are not just any 'ole person off the streets, these are trained professionals that can reduce even the most hardened of adults to tears.

They are rigorous, ruthless, and relentless. The Geneva Convention does not apply. All forms of torture are fair game: sleep deprivation, extreme mental duress, and pushing your limits repeatedly until you are not quite sure how it is that you haven't been committed to an institution (which at times seems a blissful vacation paradise - everything is clean, white, and you can just sit there and drool a bit in awe of the splendid silence. Hey, you can even go to the bathroom all by yourself without anyone pounding on the door demanding to be let in so you don't keep all the fun to yourself).

Despite the limits to which you are pushed, these limits are pushed even further. You are still the mom. There are no little white men coming to take you away (rescuing angels, I would call them). Even if you lose your cool and yell at your child, spank them, and put them in time out - you are still the mom.

After some tears (from both parties) and reconciliatory hugs and apologies, the negotiations will soon resume. A cease fire will only last so long, the truce will be negated. Children are rigorous taskmasters and the lessons cannot be neglected long. Such is the nature of toddlers.

In spite of it all, I wouldn't trade it for the world...It is a life-changing experience you can get no where else.