It's a Dad's Life:The younger has two speeds: standard and mayhem. With her fast approaching the end of her third year, we are hoping we can kiss goodbye the terrible twos and start to relax into something resembling a rational relationship with her, writes Adam Brophy

The elder was the same at that age. She would regularly collapse on the kitchen floor and flail and judder until the anger passed. Our approach with her was initially bewilderment, followed by containment. We would sit with her until some evidence of human life would return, by which time the room she was in might have been thrashed.

We are firmer with the younger. When the tantrum starts we attempt to understand the reason and resolve it. That invariably fails and the child is gently escorted to her room, deposited on her bed and told she can return when the screaming has stopped. This has become a part of the dance. She no longer rails against her expulsion, she sits back against the wall and exalts in the remainder of her primal scream. Within minutes she is back downstairs, a little sheepish but able to explain what upset her in the first place.

The first time this type of behaviour was exhibited by her big sister I sat back in astonishment at the force of the anger as it swept through the child. I had been warned about this level of tantrum, but nothing could have prepared me for its actuality. When my shock abated, my concern was that she might hurt herself, but this never quite happened. Instead, she would simply wear herself out to the point of an exhausted, whimpering state.

What shook me was I recognised her anger. The elder is a carbon copy of me in many ways. She looks, walks and talks like me. Even her rage rings bells, but fortunately I have learned not to collapse and howl at the moon in response to some hurt, real or perceived. And so, with the passing of time, has she. When she hurts, I can usually understand why. I may or may not sympathise, but I can put my finger on the reason.

The younger, on the other hand, is an enigma. She comes from her mother's side, and there I have no insight. Now, with a little more experience under my belt, I am no longer terrified by the regular demonic possession of the child, but I struggle to understand it.

Because of this, I overcompensate. I try so hard to be her "go-to guy" but she bats me away without a second thought as she runs for cover in her mother's skirts. Her Mum gets her, I'm just some lanky git who drives her around. I bring her places, I buy her things, I simper to her that we're having special times in the hope that when she's older she'll look back with misted eyes and reminisce to her friends how she and her Daddy were bonded.

I try way too hard.

The elder saunters up, gives my hand a squeeze and throws me a look as if to say, "It's all right Daddyo, I got your back." Then, last week, the younger didn't want to go to creche. She was all weepy and stubborn. I checked with her that nothing untoward had happened and it seems she just wanted to stay home. I spoke to the creche manager and was assured they would keep a close eye on her that day.

That night, picking the girls up, I am told the younger had been speaking about her upset. Apparently, her report went something like this: "I was crying. I didn't want to go to creche. Because I miss my Daddy." Result.