They are the very best kinds of people

Dear Naveen,

 

If I could have one wish for you when you are grown and living your own life it’s this: I hope you come across a three year old or two in your time. I say this because in my opinion, three year olds are the very best kinds of people. And if you are lucky enough to know one intimately, I hope he or she steals your heart.

 

The way you’ve stolen mine.

 

You slay me everyday with what you say and how you say it:

 

“It’s freezing hot Mama! The water is freezing hot!”  Immediately, I know to add a little cold water to your bath.

 

“Gramma! I have a penis!” This type of thing is said very loudly, usually in public places. Your sweet, gentle (and very modest!) Gramma took this in stride a few weeks ago while we were at the beach in Bayfield.

 

“Hey you pipsqueak, get back here, you!”  or "Hey you Meatballdoggie!" I almost always cringe at this hoping you won’t get punched in the nose, because you almost exclusively taunt older children you encounter at the park or who are walking innocently by our house with these instigations.

 

“Mommy look at that tiny little baby!” Usually you are pointing to a fellow toddler, often while you have a pacifier in your mouth.

 

I'm in awe of how much you love me. I was carrying you across the lawn on the weekend. Your little legs were wrapped around my body while you tenderly swept the hair away from my face you said, “I want to see your face Mama.” It was such a moment. 

I could have wept.

 

Your tenure here has been short, but you are as particular as an old granny when it comes to how you want things done. 

 

Like at Costco a few weeks ago. I made the mistake of taking your hotdog out of its bun because I knew that’s how you liked to eat it (“Bun sandwich” you call it). Evidently you wanted to do this yourself. You slammed your fist on the table, dropped to the very dirty floor of the crowded eating area, kicked your feet and howled at all the ways I’d wronged you. 

Nothing I could say (or threaten) would make you sit up and start over. Your Dad, Brother and I continued to eat, shrugging off the stares of onlookers and waiting out your tantrum. I was reminded that people are right. Three is the new Two.

“Take someone who doesn't keep score, who's not looking to be richer, or afraid of losing,
who has not the slightest interest even in his own personality: he's free.”  Rumi
 

I took my time writing this post because I wanted to get it right. Get you right.You are so much more than my simple words though. 

When you are enjoying something you say, "Mmmm, Mommy this chocolate tastes just like chocolate! I WUB chocolate!" At times like these, I look for a jar and wish I had the ability to save that instance for a rainy day. 

Within minutes of arriving anywhere, you know exactly where all lawn mowers and other relevant lawn maintenance equipment is located. You inquire every morning about our real vacuum (which you are terrified of) and discuss daily your toy vacuum and the toy vacuums of people you know ( a topic that after all this time still satisfies you enormously). 

All of this is to say, I love you at three my sweetheart. 

All of you. 

Every single, sticky, feisty, sweet, naughty, quirky and tender part of you. Thank you for filling my days up with such easy joy. Thank you for relieving them of boredom. 

 

Happy, happy birthday!

Love Mom.

 You're also crazy daring.

 

 And non-cooperative

 

Fearless

 And the best cuddler ever.