and then you were three

My dear sweet J2,

You're three years old! And I can't even stand it! It is self-evident that we continue to treat you like the baby---mostly because compared to your sister, you are the baby. It sort of baffles us that you are in preschool making art projects and singing Slippery Fish. We really shouldn't be that amazed by all the things you are doing. You are three after all---and we're not talking mensa level activity or anything.

Your face continues to be about the cutest thing I have ever seen in my whole entire life. And that face continues to get bombarded by smooches from your mama. I have a feeling that face will get you far in life. Or at the very least, it certainly won't hurt.

You are very polite. When asked to do something you don't want to do like say---go to bed, brush your teeth, pick up your toys, etc. You simply say, "no, thank you," as if there is some sort of choice to be had in the matter. You take sadistic pleasure in antagonizing your sister, who in your defense, plays right into it with the dramatic reactions. Nevertheless, you should really try to be nicer to her because she is a really good big sister. She is really really really good to you and, thankfully for you, has the maturity to understand (most of the time) that you are two (now three) and your tendency for irrationality knows no bounds.

I haven't had the opportunity to see you interact with kids and teachers at school. Every time I hear a story about something you did though, I wish I had been there to witness it. Because again, I sort of can't believe that you are old enough to be doing things like actually following directions and sitting still to listen to a teacher. Mostly because you exhibit none of these particular skills at home. At Sunday School, you have been labeled "spirited." The children's minister told me the other day that you are, "quite the experience." I can't argue with that. There is nothing in this world that compares to the bright smile on your face and your uncontained enthusiasm and exuberance.

Some of your favorite things include---destroying things, running away, Ghostbusters, play-doh, Paw Patrol and water guns. Last night, in fact, we were messing around with water guns and you shouted, "let's battle" before you let loose on me. Some of my favorite things are listening to your singing, watching you play with your sister, and hearing you play with your toys.

You are the momm-iest of mommies boys. This past weekend, while hiding from you in an attempt to get a few more minutes of sleep, I overheard you telling Appah, "I want my mommy. I need my mommy all the time." Yes, you and I truly have a special relationship---largely akin to Stockholm syndrome. You are greatly offended when anyone else, including your Appah and sister, show me any level of affection. Like a dog marking his territory, you will figuratively pee on my leg by physically inserting yourself between me and said affection giver and yelling "no, stop. my mommy!" to re-establish your turf. And yet, even in your dogged (pun intended) attempts to isolate me and keep me for yourself, I can't help but want to scoop you up and reassure you that I am always your mommy and I will always always be here for you.

My little boy, I love you more than I have ever found a way to say to you. I am THE LUCKIEST.