Monday, June 21, 2010

Monthly report: 36th Month -- Where does the time go?

Dear Benevolent Dictator --

Today you turned three years old. It's been a funny day for me because I keep flashing back to when you arrived in the hospital, small enough to be carried on my forearm with long toes and ears that looked vaguely elvish. I remember your little mewling cry and just how small you were.

And now, you're a little girl -- an outgoing, chatty, smart, charming little girl who loves to draw, climb on things that she's not supposed to be climbing on, playing with her friends and the neighborhood dogs. You've got one hell of an imagination, telling me stories about when you were a little horsie.

Your current favorite show is Mythbusters. You told me once that you had Grant Imahara sleep over (apparently he was also shrunk down to about fist size) and we've had dance parties with Adam Savage and Jamie Hyneman. You also love watching Sesame Street, Ni Hao Kai Lan and Wallace and Gromit. This summer, you did tell us you hate the World Cup and would rather watch Mythbusters. However, you know how to pronounced "vuvuzela." My job at mother is complete.

The funny thing is that I saw all this in you when you were a baby. You'd make eye contact with people and smile at a very young age and you always liked checking out people's faces. I've seen the hot temper in you (even though it gets louder now and a little more extreme with the flailing) and how you calm down.

Parenting is a weird thing sometimes. It's tough and sometimes tiring as hell. I've ranted about how it feels like sometimes I'm just so tired of having to play cruise director, jailer, friend, chef and maid.

But then there's these moments that take my breath away. Like when you do pronounce "vuvuzela" or when you giggle hysterically because we're having fun. Then there was the time when you hugged me and said "You're my best friend in the whole wide world."

I never expected that one. I'm a parent. We're not friends. Parents are supposed to be the enemy. But seriously, that was proof positive that whatever I did growing up, I must've done something good.

Love you,

Momma

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