As I write this, it’s late and I should be in bed. I can hear the clock on the mantel ticking, reminding me of the sleep I’m losing by staying up to blog. But I want to take the last hour of your being three to write down all the things I will remember from this past year.
Tonight before bed, I looked in your eyes and said you won’t remember anything about being three; only Daddy and I will remember these things for you. (Katie piped up and said, “Me too!” Yes, Katie might remember some of it too.) I asked you what you’ll remember about being three, and you said “I can’t remember!” So I reminded you of the good times you’ve had:
Being small enough to squeeze into the end table beside the couch.
Playing and laughing.
A thousand repetitions of, “Stop jumping on the furniture! This isn’t a playground!” And how about, “If you spit at me/say that word/backtalk again, I will put hot sauce on your tongue/soap in your mouth!” Oh, buddy. You like to test the boundaries!
Potty training has also *finally!* come and gone. Once I backed off and let you do it on your own schedule, it was a non-issue. (Maybe that’s a good lesson for me as a parent in the years to come?)
What else is to come? As you turn four, there’s so much in store for you: a big boy bed, moving into a booster seat in the car, and learning to ride a bike without training wheels. Milestones that you will fly past and never realize the momentous impact they have on your life – until you have your own child one day who chugs right through these same rites of passage.
And when I see those moments happen for that future child, know that I can’t help but remember the little boy you are tonight: snug in your bed, waiting for your future to greet you tomorrow morning.
My Jack Jack Attack. Buddy Boy. Schmoopie! And my Sugar Boy too. I love you, and I love being your mommy. Happy birthday!