Thursday, April 25, 2013


Three.  My baby is three.  Actually, she is three years old and one month, 37 months.  Finally past the point where it is appropriate to refer to your children's ages in months.

Three is still full of new experiences.  Three is filled with new things that come out of her mouth that I can't believe she thought of it on her own.  Three is when she has discovered that saying, "I don't like you Mommy" will elicit a sad response.  It is also filled with cuddles on the couch with her looking up at me, "Mommy, I love you so much.  You are my best friend."

My three year old is spunky.  Sassy.  Sensitive.  My girl wants so badly to please her parents and if we show any signs of disapproval she will cry tears of guilt.  My baby seeks for approval and beams at our praise.

My baby is 37 months going on 148 months.  She loves to sleep in later than her parents, doesn't like to be told what to do.  My prepreprepreteen will sass you back, "Baby, please go throw this in the trash"  "No, YOU go throw it in in the trash."   She has her first crush on a boy (Calliou, and no her parents do not approve).

Three is still when she needs me.  Soon, so soon, I will need her more than she needs me.   My kisses still fix all boo boos, my funny faces still bring joy.  I know all the answers to her whys, I calm her fears when she is scared.

Three is perfect.  Three is fun.  An adventure, a journey.  I'm soaking in every moment grasping each of her thousand plus days around the sun.  I can't imagine anything better.  That is, in what will feel like just a few short months away, until we hit four.


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