Today, on this day, at 9:16pm, your piercing cry of anger filled my ears. They placed your slippery self on my belly and all I could do was laugh at your intense spirit. Your eyes looked black.
Today marks your third year.
You are more than I possibly could have imagined.
You are fiercely independent even when you get frustrated and then we talk about a new solution.
You complete each task in detail (like taking an hour and a half to unwrap your gifts today).
You are generous and kind and like to take care of me just as much as I like to take care of you.
If one of us threatens a grouchy day we just remind each other “Let’s have a nice day, okay?” And then we smile at each other and I wait until we have to be reminded again.
You can count and identify letters, if you choose.
You can jump from impossibly tall things and land in a graceful two-footed crouch.
You like to moon us.
You love going fast and swinging high.
Carol is still your favorite, but you have a growing collection of puppies and a small group of animals (usually a bunny, a llama, a unicorn, and Vanilla Lambi) whom you refer to as “The Guys.”
You make everyone talk all your toys for you in a high-pitched voice. It’s both endearing and irritating.
Mouse and Mouse’s Sister still come to play almost every day.
Your simple questions of “why? why? why?” have progressed to complex thoughts like “Why is the sky blue?” “How do babies get out of their mommy’s tummies?” “What is under the floor of the tub?” and “Why does there need to be a little hole in the top of the sippy cup to let air in when I drink?”
You are in preschool five afternoons a week.
You are spirited, can carry a tune, can twirl a crazy twirl and dance a crazy dance, and I love getting to know you.
I can’t wait to see you fly.