Today you turned three years old.
For some reason three seems much older than two. Being three means you are no longer a baby, even though you’ll always be my baby. Three means you helped me decorate your birthday cupcakes.
Note: these are not the ones we decorated. Ours were much messier than these. 🙂
You get so excited over cupcakes. They rock your world.
Cupcakes and snow top the list of the most exciting things a three year old can experience.
Being three means you opened all of your birthday gifts without any assistance.
Three means we get to have actual conversations with you. Three means I can reason with you and threaten to take your choo-choo trains away if you are bad. The look in your eyes when you contemplate losing your trains tells me that you GET IT, and you totally understand that there are consequences for your actions so you stop and act right. It blows me away sometimes to watch your mind at work. The other day you decided to decorate the hallway walls at the office with big hearts drawn in red Crayola marker. You knew when I told you to get in time out that I meant business and you obeyed immediately. But even in the midst of being in trouble you cut your eyes over at Granddaddy and gave him a lopsided conspiratorial grin that nearly got you both in trouble. Thank goodness for washable paint and markers and patience.
Three means you say “I’m sorry, mama.” unprompted whenever you do something that makes me sad. It also means that you love for us to tease you and tickle you and chase you around the house. You are always engaging us in some way, trying to make us laugh. I think you’re going to be a comedian one day, you’re such a ham.
Being three means that you give out hugs and kisses with abandon, and always remember to say “please” and “thank you”.
It also means you’ll sit still long enough to pose for pictures with the grandparents. Papa Russell absolutely loved hanging out with you at Thanksgiving.
Being three means you can name every single engine in the Thomas and Friends Yearbook.
You entertain yourself for hours on end with those trains, Garrett. You make up stories about them and re-enact scenes from your videos. Your endless imagination is just amazing to me.
Being three also means you get to drive electric vehicles all by yourself.
After a little bit of instruction from Nana, that is….
Three means you recite your prayers at night all by yourself without much prompting from me. Being three means playing so hard during the day that you just fall over asleep in the living room sometimes.
Three means you play fetch with the dogs and laugh whenever they lick you instead of crying.
Woodrow always wanted a little boy to play with him, and you’re finally here.
Being three means you are exploring the world all around you, and soaking in everything I tell you like a little sponge. You are so inquisitive and full of wonder right now. I love it so much.
Three means you’re sleeping down the hall in your very own full size bed. That beautiful crib that I purchased for your nursery has already become a headboard for your big boy bed. When I bought it the idea of needing the rails to connect the headboard to the foot board seemed so far in the future that it wasn’t even on my radar.
But I ordered them last week. Welcome to the future.
I still have never written your birth story on this blog. I’ve never talked about the miraculous way you were conceived with the help of ART of Alabama. There are just so many things left unsaid about my beautiful pregnancy with you. I have intended to write about it all so many times. For over three years now I have sat down to write your story and realized that it’s impossible in mere words to say everything I need to say in order to bring all the emotions of your conception to life so I just let it rest. I keep thinking I have plenty of time, so what’s the rush?
Well here is the rush.
This was you three years ago when you were just minutes old:
And here you are now:
My sweet baby boy has grown from this helpless sleepy newborn…
…to a robust preschooler who is quick to laugh and always wants to see yourself on camera after I take your picture.
In the blink of an eye, three years will turn to six and then nine and then thirty and I’m scared I’ll never remember all the details of those days. This blog is all I have to keep track of that, and those memories are so precious and priceless that I need to tell your story. I promise one day soon I will do that.
But tonight I just wanted to tell you how much I love you. And how very proud I am to call myself your mother. You are so smart Garrett, and so very sweet. You are head strong and independent and mischievous and wonderful.
You are ALL boy, 100% through and through. You love trains and trucks and construction vehicles and crashing into stuff. But during your playdate with your friend Ruby last weekend you were such a gentleman and let her play with all your toys without the least bit of fuss. I was so proud of you for sharing and being a good host.
You’re also going to be a heartbreaker one day. I can feel it.
Just look at those lips. I’m in big trouble.
Happy 3rd birthday to my little party animal. You’re the best thing I’ve ever done in my whole life. I hope you have an outstanding year as a three year old.
I love you to the end of the earth and back again.
Allison aka Half of VAMH says
Beth Ann says
What a sweet post! And I agree with Allison!
Absolutely precious post – such a keeper.
He’s SOOOO precious!! Happy Birthday, Garrett!
Karen At Home says
Beautiful post! Happy Birthday!
The Lady says
G will love this one always. What a true writer you are. For some reason (I was a late reader) I’m just now realizing that Garret is 6 mos older than Dax. Even more fantastic! ;o)
I am a sobbing mess! What a sweet sweet gift!