Usually it’s great having a child who likes everything. He’s almost always excited, and it’s very easy to make him happy. The downside, though, is it’s hard to figure out what he likes. Obviously the answer is everything, but when you’re trying to buy him a present, or pick a birthday theme, “everything” isn’t the most helpful answer. Add in the complication of trying to make sure it’s something that he likes, and not something he’s just copying from his brother, and we were coming up pretty empty.
Three Years
The other morning I woke you up and told that you while you were two years old that morning, you’d soon be three! And you said “No! I’m your baby always!” and then you had me scoop you up and rock you in my arms. It was just what my soul needed as I mourn all of my children growing way too fast. But then again, you always seem to know what other people need lately. I’ve dubbed you a caregiver more than once lately. You often tell me that if I’m scared it’s okay, because you’re here for me. And we all call you our Italian grandmother, since you love feeding people. It brings you so much joy, and you won’t take no for an answer. No one can come into our house without getting some of your meal fed to them. You also will seek out my water from across the house and bring it to me to make sure I’m drinking enough water.
THREE
Three feels big. Heavy and important and monumental. Two still felt like a baby, still felt close to birth, with everything felt fresh and new. Three feels so big and so old. It’s hard to explain the feeling, but when I had babies I didn’t feel like a mother so much. I felt like a caregiver of tiny humans, someone who was given a gift of these squishly little creatures to take care of. Now I feel like I have a child. A child that I have to raise, mother, and teach.
Three is old enough to ask questions and remember things that I’ve told him. Three is big enough that I need to think about what I say before I saw it, unless I want it repeated forever and to everyone.