Allie ran into my arms earlier with her red hair falling out of the lopsided ponytail I instituted before a trip to the park. She was educating me for the fifty-bajillionth (that is so a real number) time about the fact that “Hannah Montana is MILEY SIREN!”. The whole time I was thinking about the fact that while saying Siren instead of Cyrus is hilarious, the world needs to stop in its tracks– because my baby is three today.
Three years old.
One, two three. Uno, dos, tres. Une, deux, trois. Count it in whichever way makes you feel the most comfortable.
I’m still in disbelief. And it’s still three.
And just–wow.
I’d like to say that most days I feel as if I’m on top of this mom gig, like that I have it down pat and I am ready to roll in all situations. But it’s not true. I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that there are some times when I look all around the house for that parenting guide that should be individually specified and included with all babies. Well, I looked, and it’s not in the cabinets or under the couch? It wasn’t in her bassinet, and it didn’t burst out of my party barn when she came squealing into this world. Mine must’ve not arrived. Did you get a parenting guide? Because sometimes I feel like I’m playing catch up.
Most days with Allie are akin to being accompanied by a giant ray of sunshine. Don’t get me wrong–there are days when it’s like I have a lightening bolt poking at my shoulder. But on the sunny, more frequent days, she’s just there being as bright and shiny as possible, lighting up the room with her random quips and serious toddler thoughts on life.
“I fink you are the best cooker, and daddy is the best tickler.”
“Pink is the best color, because it is for girls. Girls are awwwwwwwesome.”
“I have told you THREE times that I don’t like standing in the corner.”*stomps feet*
Three year old wisdom is priceless.
While this is only Allie’s third birthday, she believes she is on the cusp of puberty. She’s been wearing around a bikini top pretending like it’s a bra for the past two weeks. I steal it from her and wash it as frequently as possible. But it has somehow become her second skin
I also try to convince her that wearing bras is not fun or logical at this point.
But her response while pointing at her nipples was, “I need it to hold my boobies!!”
Can’t argue with her there, I can see how she needs to contain her massive jugs. *insert eye roll*
Many, many moons ago when Allie first began talking, we adored and cherished the small mispronunciations of certain words. Now, we rarely get to hear one of those, because she’s managed to finesse her way of speaking.
While it’s probably not ‘good’ parenting to encourage her when she says something in a hilarious manner, my little girl is trotting around in a bikini top thinking that she is wearing a bra and knows the ways of the world. The fact that she calls all people named Louise, “Da Weeds” is something I’m holding onto– tightly and with both hands.
I love how hard she laughs, and that like her dad & I she appreciates humor. I’m pretty sure if I had to I would give up a lung just to hear her laugh deeply from her belly.
I love her ‘your mama’ jokes, even though I’m her mama and sure to be the butt of many of them. (When I find out who taught her to say, ‘your mom’ to everything…It. is. on.)
Sometimes when I’m upset, Allie will offer to ‘hold me’. She hugs my neck and brings my head to her shoulder like that I’m one of her baby dolls, and she silently rocks me. It’s so genuine and endearing that while the vertebrae in my back are ready to pop out and declare war to free themselves from the weird position imposed, I stay as long as possible. She runs her tiny fingers through my hair, and tells me that it will all “be okay”. And I smile, because she’s Allie, she’s fantastic, and I get to be her mom.
I truly cherish each day she is so young and carefree. I know that one day she will be in middle school, and it will be, “OH MY GOSH..Sally Jo Whatsherface wore the same shirt as I did to school today. I’m going to PASS out!!”
Until then, I’m clasping onto every day that is riddled with her logic and humor.
My baby is three.
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