The Farm Wife Sagas

Everyone warns you about the newborn stage—the sleepless nights, the teething battles, the endless ear infections, and of course, the infamous “terrible twos.” But nobody… nobody… tells you about three.

Three is where the real plot twist happens.

If you ask me about our daughter VJ, I’ll gladly tell you she’s an angel 90% of the time. She’s the best little farmhand, she breezed through potty training, and she’s been a rock-solid sleeper since the start. Parenting felt almost too easy. But three? Three cashes in all those good-behavior points in one big ol’ meltdown that makes you question ever having another kid—at least twice a week.

Take last night for example. We’d just gotten home from dance and were about to dive into Taco Tuesday from our local Mexican restaurant (because who actually cooks on dance nights?) when our brand-new neighbors came over to introduce themselves. While we were outside chatting, VJ slipped into the house.

Fifteen minutes later, we walked in and discovered…

✨ A bathroom floor that looked like every Disney princess had a glitter confetti party.

🐟 A beta fish who had been “generously provided” enough food to last through retirement. (I swear he looked at me like, help.)

💇‍♀️ And a three-year-old grinning ear to ear, her hair shellacked with glitter so strong it could survive nuclear fallout. Three shampoos later, she’s still sparkling like Edward Cullen in the sunlight.

And the kicker? She thought she was helping. In her mind, she had fixed her hair and saved her fish. Honestly, she was basically waiting for her gold medal ceremony.

Here’s the thing: if you’re also raising a three-year-old, let me tell you—you’re not alone. These tiny humans are equal parts angel, comedian, and demolition crew. They’ll melt your heart with sweetness one minute, and the next you’re scrubbing something unidentifiable off your walls.

But I’ve realized this is just part of the ride. Three is messy. Three is unpredictable. Three is… hilarious, once you get past the glitter in your drain and the crayon masterpiece on your wall. And someday, when the house is quiet (after I learn that “quiet” doesn’t mean she’s redecorating the bathroom again), I’ll probably miss the sparkle, the sass, and even the chaos.

Until then—solidarity, mamas. May your fish live long, your tacos stay warm, and your glitter supply stay hidden. ✨

⸻

Updates:

• Beta fish update: Alive and well—though possibly in need of therapy and a personal trainer after the calorie overload.

• Bathroom update: Still sparkles. Will likely still sparkle when we sell this house in 20 years.

• VJ update: Grounded from all glitter for the foreseeable future. (RIP craft cabinet.)