She Had a Rough Day

"Honey, why are you crying?"

I watched as Elizabeth took a deep, shaky breath, large tears dripping from her lashes. "I've had a rough day," she got out before she broke into sobs again.

She seems to have had quite a few rough days lately. Most nights - not all, but most - find her, at some point, in tears. Tears and tantrum worthy, hiccuping sobs and kicking feet.

The first time it happened, I told her to go cry in her room because Joseph and I were eating dinner and, when she was done, she could come out for a hug. It's how we usually handle "tantrums" and typically works. She gets to vent her frustrations and we don't have to listen.

I say "she" because Joseph's thrown two tantrums in his life and the last one was a week after Elizabeth was born. I used to pat myself on the back, but then Elizabeth turned nine months and I realized, once again, Joseph was a decoy child created to ensure siblings.

Moving on...

Usually, Elizabeth goes in her room, closes the door, throws a rockin' tantrum, and then comes out calm and ready for a hug and a kiss within ten minutes. This has not been the case lately.

Lately, the "tantrums" have last at least twenty minutes and would have probably lasted longer, but I caved and went into her room during the first one.

"Baby, why are you crying?"

"I don't know," she said between sobs. "I just have to."

I pulled her into my lap and held her while she cried like her little heart was broken. She kicked a little, but mostly she clung to me and buried her hot face in my neck. I stroked her hair and, when she was done, gave her another hug and she was off, back to "normal" until the next day when the scene repeated itself.

Tonight, the "I just have to" was replaced by "I had a rough day" and I listened as she explained that she jumped on the trampoline fifteen times and had to run around and exercise and then L at school was bossy. The words came out in a torrent while I stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. She kept her arms wrapped around me and sobbed. When she was spent, I hugged her extra tight and told her I loved her.

It's rough being three, almost four.

Rougher yet being the mother of a three, almost four year old.

I have no idea how I'm going to survive this stage if it lasts much longer. The tears...they are ridiculous. And at the same time, I want to keep my cool about them because she doesn't seem to understand why she's crying herself and God knows there are times I feel the same way.

Of course, I thought I had about ten more years before this sort of thing hit.

Have you guys experienced this with your kids?