Me wee little lass, me baby-pie, me Monkey turns THREE tomorrow.
Yeah, I'm a mom. Get over it.
You may have noticed that I'm not a particularly sentimental mother. I don't moon over babies. I recognize them for what they are: devil spawn with cute toothless grins. I know they'll bite you as soon as that first tooth comes in, and they'll do it again with each one, just to make sure it's in good working order.
I don't wax poetic over days gone by; you know the old it goes so fast and they were just a baby, like yesterday. Well, no, time just goes on, like it pretty much always has. It's been three years since I first saw that little dark face and eyes and hairy body. Three years is a while. I've had a few three-year spans in my life, and as they go, this one was great. But it took the same time the other three year spans took.
But Three Years Old is a milestone in my book. Monkey's been talking since she was ten months old and walking since thirteen months, quit shitting herself (well, mostly) at around two and a quarter. She's definitely got her own ideas. So she's well past babyhood (though I referred to her as a baby today - go figure).
But three is... three is not a baby. Three year olds play soccer in my neighborhood. Three year olds go to preschool and learn stuff. Three year olds ski.
But most of what they do, at three, is turn into people. Miniature, but real people. And a lot of you might be saying, "Whew, congrats on getting past the terrible twos!"
You don't have kids, do you?
People who talk about Terrible Twos are ignorant poop-heads who just got caught up in the alliterism. There's a big secret to parenthood: it's actually Terrible Threes. No shit. Three year olds are sassy, rude, ego-centric people who will debate the merits of a juice box over Sunny-D for hours; well, that is, if you're dumb enough not to send them into time-out after the first hour.
They also know how to smile sweetly, tell you whether they want a clip or a ponytail in their hair, say "I love you, Momma," jump up and down when you let them pick out a balloon, rip off their clothes in order to put on the new outfit you just bought them, give strangling hugs, elicit a smile from the grumpiest guy in the grocery store, help you pick out snacks for playgroup, tell you thank you!when you tell them they get to go to school tomorrow, play hide and seek with their brother and actually count to ten before looking, sing the ABC song over and over and over, realized that mommy writes stories for a job (ok, wannabe job), paint pictures that look like something, and get absurdly excited over their upcoming third birthdays.
Tomorrow Monkey wakes up to balloons and cupcakes and friends and a new doll house and a big brother who's mad because he has to go to school on his little sister's birthday. It's the start of kid-hood for Monkey tomorrow.
Tomorrow's gonna be a great day.