Pre-3

Dear Grayson,

In 9 days you will turn three. My heart stops a little bit just writing that sentence down. Three is an actual age, it's no longer months, it's no longer babyhood. You are all little boy now and so much so I cannot hear my own thoughts at the end of the day. Or in the middle of the day, who are we kidding? You are noisy. You love to be noisy. You are kind. You like to throw yourself all over the people you love and wrestle, kiss, and hug like there's no tomorrow.

You like flashlights. You love your baby sister, your daddy, your mommy, and sometimes Sadie. (Those are your words.) You are afraid of the dark outside but not inside. You love scary shows but ask me to turn off Popeye when Olive Oil won't let Sweet Pea out of her crib. You said she was mean. Agreed, she was mean so we turned her off. You know what's right and what's wrong. You forgive easily but you don't forget.

You have a very good head on your shoulders.
You get that from your father.
You spill shit constantly.
You get that from your mother.
You are funny.
You are hilarious to your little sister no matter what you do when you do it.
Sadie is scared of you (with good reason) and Sadie is not scared of anything else in the world.
You talk on the plastic phone to your grandparents when you think I'm not looking or listening.
I'm always looking and listening.
You are a very picky eater but eat everything in sight when it's just us and we're chatting.
You are sensitive and shy, just like so many wonderful men in your family.
You are an artist, through and through. It even comes out in the way you talk ("I think this new house is too small. We should blow into it.")
You love music, singing, playing piano and harmonica and have wanted drums "from the real drum store, not the pretend one," for quite some time.
You are currently very into: bugs, planes, dinosaurs, my ipod, scotch tape, firetrucks, costumes, superheroes, Nonie crackers (Cheeze Itz), milkandjuice, The TickleMonster, Patty Cake with Abby Cake, carrying 4-5 selected VIP toys for the day in a plastic bin everywhere you go, then dumping those VIP toys under your pillow before your "rest", chocolate milkshakes, pinecones, sleeping with Mommy & Daddy at night, being cozy, scissors, driving, and knowing where we're going and what we're doing next and then next and then next after that...

You can say contrail and etymologist but ask me every morning where Daddy went.

You. You. Beautiful Almost Three Year Old You. Always my firstborn. Always my son. Always my Diggy Boy. May I soak in these next 9 days as much as I can before you are filling out college applications and a marriage license. It must go that quickly because there I was yesterday staring at your newborn face wondering how I ever could've questioned whether or not there is a God. There is. You are proof.

I love you.
Mommy