You turned 3 years old yesterday. I know this might not be shocking to you, but it definitely is to me. I’m trying to stop calling you a baby now that you are so big, but even when you read this one day, I’ll probably still be doing it.
On October 17th, 2007, you came into our lives with a BANG (there were several other noises, but I’ll save those for when you’re all grown up). Giving birth to you was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. And, just like many difficulties in life, it was the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done too. Try and remember that when you’re all grown up and have big things to overcome. The first thing I noticed about you was the size of your mouth. Yup, sweet child, you have a massive mouth. You still do (something we noted when you burst into tears at your birthday party, over the pinata falling apart). That big, healthy scream was music to my ears though. The first thing your daddy noticed was that you have the same wrinkle on your big toe that I do. I had warned Daddy years before that he had better learn to love that wrinkle, because his children would likely carry it. And I was right. Try and remember that too, ok? On that day, the day you were born, your daddy hardly left your side. He still hardly does, except to go to work, so that I don’t have to. Isn’t that nice of him?
Anyways, on that day, 3 years ago, we both became completely different people. When we became parents, the entire world looked new and different to us, because we kept trying to see it through your eyes. Daddy and I had alot of fun together before you came into the world, but we’re having even more fun now.
At 3 years old, you are amazing. Here are some things, off the top of my head, about you.
You love people. You want to talk to them, but you regularly get so excited when the time comes that you can’t stop wiggling.
You have been unofficially dubbed the most polite child in your preschool class. Apparently you remember the names of all of the teachers working there, and use “please”, “thank you”‘, “you’re welcome”, and “bless you” appropriately. The other day when I said “you’re welcome” to you, you responded, “thank you for saying ‘you’re welcome’, Mama!”
You are, and always have been, huge for your age. At 2 years and 22 months, I had to begin buying you size 5 clothes. I love that about you. All 42 pounds of you.
You love good food, which pleases me immensely. You have never met a fruit you didn’t like, although it took about 15 tries to get you to favor broccoli. Your current favorite vegetables are bell peppers (orange, esp) and cucumbers. You’re no vegetarian, though. I asked you yesterday what you wanted to eat for your birthday lunch, and you (predictably) responded “cheeseburgers!” Papa took you to get one.
You are intense, just like your daddy. You feel every emotion from top to bottom. Your pain tolerance is high, you really can just hardly be bothered by physical pain. A harsh word, however, leaves an indelible mark on you. I love that about you, too. Always remember that that thing they say about sticks and stones is not true. Words can hurt people. Way more than sticks and stones. I hope that your emotional sensitivity, combined with your physical toughness, will make you a champion for the weak and hurting.
You have a fantastic memory. You know all of your shapes and numbers, (you can currently count into the 30’s, but you’re not really a fan of 40). You know the sounds that letters make. You also know the authors of your favorite books. You regularly ask me if we can read “Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak”. Your other favorite books are anything by Dr. Seuss. You’ve been starting to memorize the ‘Today’s Word” on Sesame Street. The other day you informed me that today’s word was “investigate”, and that it means “to look for answers”. And just before your birthday, you learned how to identify a bird by it’s call. Your brain is made of velcro, and it seems that whatever we throw at it sticks.
You have fantastic grandparents who love you fiercely. You’ll see as you get older that this is a very special thing. You live far away from them right now, but sometimes I wonder if that’s not why God gave you such an awesome memory. You talk about them daily.
You used to be a sick, sick baby. You struggled with asthma all last winter. God healed you of it in March of 2009. You still get sick, but there is no more asthma. You won’t ever have it again. And on the day He healed you of it, I put this verse up in my kitchen. I read it so I’ll never forget that, although He lets us go through tough times, He loves us. And sometimes, he’ll do a miracle for us. He can do it whenever He wants. Remember that. And if you forget, I bet you’ll still be able to find this in one of my kitchen cabinets: “I will remember the deeds of the LORD; yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago. I will meditate on all your works and consider all your mighty deeds. Your ways, O God, are holy. What god is so great as our God? You are the God who performs miracles; you display your power among the peoples.” Psalm 77:11-14
Your favorite places to go are preschool, church, Miss Pamela’s house, Aunt Didi’s house, and on an airplane. Your daddy is trying so hard to get Lowes on this list.
You refuse to poop in the potty, and you regularly pretend to and ask for your reward. But I’m onto you.
Mommy and Daddy watch you sleep at night. You should always remember that. I wish every child in the whole world had someone in their lives who wanted to watch them sleep. We can hardly stand how in love with you we feel when we sit there and watch you snooze, all stretched out, in your Thomas the Train jammies. It must be the closest thing to heaven on earth.
I’m going to make that all for now, but I could just go on and on. I’m so grateful that God let me be your Mommy and I love you more than you will ever know.
Now, do what I say, ok?