Lets Make a Deal

I was warned about the terrible two's. We survived that then we were told its not the two's you need to worry about, its the three's. We picked ourselves up, dusted ourselves off, armed ourselves with a fresh arsenal of threats, promises and new parenting handbooks and went back to battle.
We fought long and hard to teach you its not okay to "poop on someone" and that just because you say excuse me each time, it doesn't mean we want to hear you burp 38 times in a row. We tried in earnest to remind you to pee IN the toilet, not around it, and its really okay to put your toy down long enough to use the bathroom. We pleaded with you to realize that your hair is not a napkin, your boogers aren't snacks and nothing good ever comes from blowing into your Capri Sun drink pouch.
So now, my sweet sweet boy. We have fulfilled our end of the bargain. We parented you as best we could, kept you alive, only slightly warped you and we have now celebrated your fourth birthday. Terrible two's and even more terrible three's are behind us now.
Its smooth sailing from here right? Anyone? Anyone?
Bueller?
.
.
.
Bueller?

I haven't heard anything about what turning four has to offer. It better be all cupcakes and bunny rabbits.
Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice, then I must be a mother of two desperate for reassurance and willing to believe whatever B.S. someone throws my way in an effort to convince myself that it will get easier.
(I think thats how the saying goes.)

Happy Birthday my amazing little monster.