Thursday, February 7, 2013

Three Ears Old

Sweetie, you are three.

It's hard-earned. You haven't wasted a second of it. You took two by the handlebars and rode it to the edge. I imagine three won't be much different.
You are such a little sparkplug. Never a dull moment. You can make a toy of almost anything. Silicone device skins become race cars and rocket ships. Your toothbrush is a trumpet. My pump case is a salon chair for giving your toys haircuts. You are take charge. If we won't give you scissors, you'll go get them yourself. That's right, baby. Empowerment.

You love to sing. Your speaking voice is this low monotone that's distinctively yours. You sing down where my altos are comfortable. Though you follow the countour of a melody fairly well, there's something hilariously bad and precious and beautiful about your actual singing. Don't ever stop. We can work out the rough edges if we need to.
As I write this, you're brushing my hair and yelling "What have you done? What have you done?!" Just like Rapunzel's mother in Tangled. You've discovered princesses and fairies...along with your race cars and rocket ships.
You're rarely quiet unless we are in a big group. Then you find a toy and a quiet spot and go play on your own. I think you might be an introvert. There's an incredibly vivid imagination there coupled with a need for downtime and solitude. You haven't figured out how to navigate friends yet. They are part of a social code you haven't cracked.
You are incredibly gentle though. Empathic, even. Others' laughter makes you burst into giggles even though you've always missed the joke. Others' grief makes you weep. While watching a heartbroken tv character sing the words "bye bye to Sandra Dee," you burst into tears and yelled "bye bye" at the screen. You had to be consoled. Your favorite sentences are "Are you okay?" And "Don't worry. We will save you." When your brother is crying, it makes you cry and occasionally hit yourself in frustration, as you remind yourself "don't hit." You'd never hit him and I've never seen you hit your friends. You rarely, if ever, need a timeout. When your brother is rowdy, you giggle and say "Calm down, Dibbon! Calm down!"
You are such a perfect big sister. Slow to get started, but so accepting and sweet with your brother. He watches everything you do. And whenever we get out of the car, you declare "We havta get Baby Dibbon." You love to make him laugh. You fake sneeze and splash him and kiss him. Anything for a giggle.
Three will be a big year for you. I'm just sure of it. You're a sponge for knowledge. You've become so thoughtful when asked to make a choice about something. You have figured out phonics and have become much more articulate. "Wood-uh-peck-er."
You still twirl my hair day in and day out whenever you are sleepy or cuddly or insecure. You still hit the ground running from the moment you wake. Your sweetness slays me. I've never seen anything like it. You soften me with your "aww, I love you so much, Mama!" as you jump on me from out of nowhere and kiss me. You repeat everything your daddy says, for better or for worse. You crawl into our arms and curl up like a kitten. A kitten who's a head taller than other kittens her age.
We love you, little princess. You fill our every day with joy and exhaustion, wonder and laughter.
Thank you for being our starburst. Our firework. Our three year old.

3 comments:

  1. She is a sparkling firecracker!!!
    Happy Birthday, Sweetie!!!
    Xoxo
    kelly k

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  2. I should send this to my Mommy. Sweetie sounds just like me at that age. Minus being taller than the other kids. I was shorter. And while I did hit the ground running each morning, we had a rule that I had to quietly play in my room until Mommy started her second cup of coffee. My non-morning-person mother was cursed with a first child that was "so perky in the morning that she fairly sparkled". That's something my Mommy says about me often. :)

    Ugh! I need to get over this stupid anemia so I can visit & meet your gorgeous babies!!

    Tell Sweetie Happy Birthday for me. From one firecracker to another. :)

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