It baffles me that you are 3 years old! I have known you for what can now be called many years. It’s crazy. Your mama and I talk about you every night after you go to sleep. We adore you. We used to call you Little Monster, but you are getting big (40 inches tall!) and so smart, so Smarty is your new nickname…along with Bug, Shmoo, and Little Shit.
You have become so bright and inquisitive. What we thought was shyness in your first year turned into bold but quietly observant.
Your persuasion skills are apparently very advanced. Somehow your very confused and pregnant mama was convinced to give you ice cream for breakfast today. Something about how your dinner last night was really breakfast, so you already ate, so it is okay to have a little ice cream. I heard the argument from upstairs, but I was cozy and enjoying some sprawling so I rolled over and went back to sleep. Your mama finally crawled back into bed with me this chilly January morning feeling only slightly bad that you were downstairs, alone, sitting at your tiny red table and chair set eating a bowl of vanilla ice cream for breakfast while watching TV. Mommies are always desperate for sleep because you kept us up for two years and also because we just stay up too late every night.
We think this might be the best winter we have ever had with you because your enthusiasm about the holidays was contagious. There was hardly any focus on The Presents, but rather on sparkly lights and the crooked ugly gingerbread house you made that you stare at every morning. You wouldn’t let me pack up Mr. Snowman, the stuffed animal snowman who is still bigger than you, in the holiday bin this year – even though he is truly to big for our house. We let you keep him out because, you know, we are “picking our battles”. Now you wield him around like an unconscious peace protester…unwilling or unable to defend himself.
We appreciate your deep and unending love of fruit. Fruit, for you, is not just for eating…oh no. It is for stacking, holding, carrying around in baskets, sorting, building forts for, putting down for naps, and then, only after days of enjoyment, to eat. Although your grandma brings you many wonderful gifts, your favorites, the one you squeal about, are hairy brown coconuts, pomelos, giant bags of clementines or perhaps a handful of your favorite, the beloved kiwi.
We don’t know how this will manifest in your adult professional life, but we know it will. No kid in the history of the world appreciates fruit and select vegetables as much as you do, my lovely boy.
I have been remiss in my letter writing duties, so please hold me to my promise to write you many more. And please know that you are beyond loved. You are the best thing that has EVER happened to your mommies (and I say this even after wanting to smother you in frustration over your three year old antics, many times, this week alone). Tonight I asked you some philosophical questions, as I do now and again.
Me: “Smarty, who is God”
You: “I don’t know.”
Me: “Me neither.”
You: “Well, actually I think god is when the sun goes down.”
What could I say in response? I just hugged you a little closer and savored one of those moments when my life feels perfect, because I know that the next moment I will yell at you about something, or you will make irritating chewing noises on purpose because you know I hate it, or you will refuse to put any clothes on, or you will ask me why so many times I want to throw something at you, or I will blog instead of hanging out with you. Mama actually threw the bagel you were insisting on not sharing/crying about/whining about at you in the car today. Oh the guilt. There is nothing quite like parental guilt. And your mommies do things and say thing that we regret. We will certainly be paying for your therapy bills someday.
But in those perfect moments, which are actually quite often, I just know that you are the loveliest creature I have ever met.