All by yourself.
Not your rainboots, that you slip your feet into with ease and then clomp around like a tiny herd of elephants.
Today you put on your tennis shoe. All by yourself. The one with the velcro strap that you have to undo and redo in just the right spot.
That one.
You did it.
You yelled, "Mommy! Mommy!" And I looked at your feet, knowing that there were no shoes there the last time I'd seen them. I asked if you did it by yourself.
You said yes, and you asked if it made me happy.
And I said it made me very happy.
And I clapped.
And I smiled.
And then I hugged you.
And when I hugged you, I shed a tear.
Because I was happy. And I was sad. And I am feeling all of those things at the same time.
Being a mom is weird.
Yesterday you needed me to do everything for you. Every little thing.
And I'm a mess.
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You are going to be 3 in a few months.
3 years old
I remember when your dad and I celebrated our 3rd anniversary after we started dating. I bought him a bunch of balloons and tied them to his motorcycle. We had a big dinner and exchanged cards and presents. It was a big deal.
Three years was a long time.
But, I swear, you were born yesterday.
How could you have been alive--in my life--for 3 whole years already?
No way.
That simply cannot be.
Yesterday I finagled those froggy newborn arms and legs into impossibly tiny outfits, and today you are putting on your own shoe.
How do these things happen?!?
Breathe, momma, breathe.
I need to slow down.
I need to freeze this moment in time for just a little bit.
Because I
...say "Mommy! Mommy! Hurry! Hurry!" when you are excited.
...and say "Mommmyyy..." all long and drawn out when you make a new discovery.
And I don't want to forget how you...
...put your head down and say "Oh man..." when you find out that things aren't going your way.
...hold my hand when we walk across a parking lot.
...insist on opening the door to walk into the garage all by yourself.
...turn everything into a ramp for your cars.
...make me "breakfast" in your kitchen.
You seem to think I love cupcakes and tea.
...ask if Daddy is home whenever we pull into the driveway.
...lay on the floor...or your bed...or the couch...or anywhere to "look at pictures" in your books.
...shout "Good morning, Mason!" when your brother wakes up from a nap.
...stick out your tongue just a tiny bit when you concentrate.
How much longer will you...
...say "my" instead of "I" ("My did it!")?
I can't bring myself to tell you that you are saying it wrong.
...raise your voice to a tiny squeak when you say something is "tiny little"?
...ask what that sound is? And that sound? And that sound?
When did you stop saying "sound noise" and start just saying "sound"?
When did you learn to say it like everyone else?
Why didn't I notice that change?
...ride "zoom! fast!" on your motorcycle up and down the hallway?
...tell me that you're sorry and that you "lub" me?
...look so sad and conflicted when you know you've done something that you shouldn't have?
...remind me to pray before we eat or see an ambulance or feel sad?
...ask me to hold your hand when you have a hard time falling asleep?
As I write this list I am struck by how many of my memories are noted by your words. Your simple, sweet words.
When did you start talking? Or saying sentences?
I swear it was yesterday that I thought you'd go to kindergarten saying only the word "dis"...
I should be going now.
You're putting on your other shoe, and I wouldn't miss it for the world.
Love always,
Mom
