You narrated your shopping list very matter-of-factly. Yogurt, strawberries, milk, cereal. When I mentioned broccoli, you very clearly said no. It was definitely not on your list. This discussion was held at 2056, as we were preparing for bed. The question that had been posed – What will we do tomorrow morning?
Supermarket. Then the list. Then you said we would go to the playground and to the beach. Then you smiled a big one.
You’ve been doing a lot of growing up recently. You graduated from diapers and are now wearing briefs and underpants. Like a grown up. We have three accidents so far, of the second variety…but it is more like you just didn’t want to leave the living room. But I do realize that you are indeed growing up. Even when you cry over some things that don’t warrant a full on outpouring. Like the banana peel isn’t going down the way you thought it should. Or I told you no when you wanted to do a back flip (I am not sure you know what that is) on the trampoline.
But I must remember that you are a threenager. Moody, unpredictable, easily distracted, and a ball of energy. So when you cry, I distract you. It’s easy to figure you out – hey, come over here and see these trucks through the window. The crying usually stops promptly. You are also pretty dramatic.
We’ve come a long way from baby days.
Sometimes when I cough or sneeze, you come running over so fast to say ‘Ko-ko’ or ‘Bless you’ and when I fail to answer you promptly enough, you tell me, ‘Mama, say kenk-yew’ and I can’t help but chuckle.
You are growing up fast. Now, you talk non-stop sometimes. The only time you are quiet is if we are riding in the car and you are focusing on watching for cars, construction vehicles (your term, not mine) and catching airplanes passing by in the sky. We have real conversations now, though you usually feel that you are always right. I can say the sky is blue and you will retort back that, ‘No, it is blue’ and I have to nod and agree with you.
You try to make me laugh sometimes. Especially when you think I am down in the dumps. You come running up to me and ask if I am okay. Today, my tummy made a funny noise and you turned around quickly from your perch at the window and asked, ‘Are you okay, mama?’ When I said that my tummy didn’t feel good, you came over quickly and offered to rub it and then you told me I was going to be okay.
You are three.
And every day, no matter how cloudy my skies are, or how much I am driven crazy by you sometimes constantly calling me Mama, Mummy, Ma and any other rendition you can think of in the space of 30 continuous minutes, you are a bright spot. The brightest spot.