Three years ago I woke up at 3am and had to poo. That was the first sign that you would be born that day. I know, I know, it’s poo and that’s gross and I am a really embarrassing mother. Trust me, I’m not overly fond of poo talk either but these past few months have been all about the poo so what better way to lead off really. Since last time I wrote, you are potty trained. You did it easily, swiftly and with only a handful of accidents. You did it without sticker rewards or smarties. You did it without a potty even- you could scale the big toilet! All you needed was a lot of encouragement which I was thrilled to give. But girl, can you tell me why, after 5 months, you still need to call me into the bathroom yelling “Look at my poo Mama!!! It’s a big one!” (Or “it’s a stinky one” or “it’s little poops” or you show off your counting skills by counting out the plops.) Please can I stop pretending to be so excited by your excrement? Because I am so over it.
But you are not. You love poo and you love public restrooms. You love using them and you love when I use them. “MOMMY ARE YOU PEEING?!” you often yell while I am perched above the toilet seat. “yes” I whisper somehow trying to counterbalance the over eager potty talk. “OH MAMMA LOOK. YOU POOPED TOO!!!” Oh god you are embarrassing! Other bum things delight you as well. Outhouses, booty shakes, running around bare-bummed and Brennyn’s poop all fascinate you. Ah, if only you had the dexterity to change a baby’s bum…
Ah yes, you have become a big sister! What an amazing opportunity for me, your mother, to watch you take on this new role with such enthusiasm and passion. I had prepared myself for jealousy and outbursts but you instead respond with compassion and nurturing. “I am so happy to have a little sister! I love her.” you often tell me. Of course, I will remind you of this sentiment every day of your teenage life while you try to shake off and ditch your adoring sister (I say adoring, you say annoying- potato, po-tah-to.)
Right now Brennyn quite literally looks up to you. Her eyes follow your every move, whether you are ‘sliding’ down the armchair or twirling about the living room as we watch So You Think You Can Dance. She knows exactly who you are and she can not wait to walk, jump, play and dance just like you. And you can not wait either. Neither can I actually. I can not even begin to explain how excited I am to watch this sisterhood develop and grow.
Another type of sisterhood has developed for you lately. That of having a best friend. Hannah has become your bestest friend in the whole world. You had talked about her a lot over the past few months but it wasn’t until recently that I really got to see your friendship in action. Oh girls. You two hold hands and run around together giggling and giggling and giggling some more. We all camped together one night up at Alice Lake, our tents side by side, and while getting ready for bed time all we could hear was “Goodnight Hannah! Heeheeheeheehee.” “Goodnight Kaya! Heeheeheehee” over and over and over again. Adorable.
You are 3. Fact.
You are 3! Fantastic!
You are 3? For real?
Ah yes, my girl- not baby, not toddler- but girl. There are moments, my girl, when I look at you and I have flashes of the woman you are going to become. Glimpses of facial expressions and attitudes and demeanor that I just know are intrinsically who you are now and will be then. I smile during these times. Sometimes sadly. Sometimes whimsically. Sometimes knowingly. But always with a smile. Because you are beautiful. So beautiful. Right now. And right then.
Then there are other moments where all I can see is the baby. The pudgy, smiley, joyful baby. My baby. You will always be my baby.
My baby, my girl you are just such an absolute joy to be around. I’ve written often about many of your funny moments that I don’t even know where to begin. So let me just share with you a day in the life. Yesterday in fact. When Brennyn turned 3 months old.
You climb into bed at 6:30am “Mommy, I wanna watch toons.” Mommy is not ready to wake up so she turns on the toons.
“Hot dog, hot dog, hot diggity dog!” you belt out along with Mickey’s Clubhouse while jumping up and down on the bed. Then you curl up beside Brennyn who has been sleeping beside me (Daddy is already up for work), steal her blanket, see my dirty look, give Brennyn a tiny corner of her blankie then look up at me with those huge gorgeous eyes and proclaim “We’re sharing!”
Later we are downstairs eating breakfast when you shout out “Onga Singa Lay!” I have no idea what you are saying so I ask you to repeat it.
“Onga Singa Lay! Daddy sing that all the time!”
And then I clue in, you are singing “All the Single Ladies” by Beyonce. Which in of itself is hilarious but the fact that ‘Daddy always say that’ is even funnier.
After breaky you go into Daddy’s office (okay, the garage) for your morning hello and visit. A few minutes later you come in crying, tears pouring down your face looking oh so pathetic. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I can’t have muscles” you whimper and pout.
“Daddy no let me have muscles.”
I’m pretty sure I am misunderstanding you so I flex my arms and ask “These muscles?”
I am surprised when you nod your head and am trying to figure out why your daddy would be telling you you can’t have muscles. Of course you can. You can have, be, do anything you want! I march myself into the ‘office’ all ready to put forth my feminist speech, when daddy explains, “I wouldn’t let her bring the weights inside as she’d probably sideswipe Brennyn’s head.” Ah yes, good point. No muscles for you!
After getting dressed (no vests or socks ever if you had your say) you grab your bag (it’s not a purse mommy, it’s a bag!), throw in your hammer (don’t ask) and off we go grocery shopping.
You do things like that a lot- acting both girlie and tomboyish. There is such a thing, yes. You are one. You are going to be Spiderman for Halloween and I suspect it may turn into Spiderman with fairy wings but whatever, you can pull it off. You choose the Lego car over the silly bobble-head kittie for your Happy Meal. Then yesterday after dinner, while wearing your tutu, you grab a chicken drumstick from your play food and use it as a hockey stick to shoot a football to Daddy. A goal gets both fist pumps and a twirly spin. Girlie Tomboy indeed.
You really can have, be and do anything you want girl. And we will support you in that. In anything.
You are 3 years old today. Three! Happy 3rd Birthday my Love and Happy Bouncing!
With love and timbits,