3 Years Old

My affable son turned three years old last week. He is quite simply the most dramatic, empathetic, passionate, endearing, and particular child of the toddler variety that I have ever known. No bias here, I tell you.

We kept the celebration intimate and had his grandparents and Aunts over after church and paid homage to none other than, Mickey the Mouse. Cutter had been quite involved in his party requests and high on his list was, “a cake with Mickey’s ears on it.” Daily he would remind me and chant, ‘Meeska, Mooska, Mickey Mouse…come inside, it’s fun inside.’ He disproves my theory that I don’t let my children watch much television. 

He brandished his toothy grin for the majority of the day and it was a joy to watch him revel in the merriment. I made a slideshow to commemorate his third year, and family dutifully sat with eyes glued to the set as picture after picture proved that he has in fact grown up before my very eyes. No longer does he bear the baby cheeks, the practiced gait, the chubby feet, or the soiled diapers of yore (hallelujah). Instead, his face is thinned out, he runs and jumps with the confidence of a licensed professional, and Lightning McQueen covers his cheeks (of the butt variety). 

I love him unconditionally as any mother would, but my heart practically bursts when he runs into my arms and tells me he loves me. I pray those days never end.

From his well-visit this past week:
Weighing 28 pounds
Measuring 38 inches

Quotes of Note and Other Memories:
Size 8 shoe
2T or 24 months tops and bottoms
Potty trained since October (day and night)
Lately quips, ‘I’m tellin’ you’
Likes to play with similar toys and say they are best friends
When he doesn’t want to do something he’ll stop and whine that his feet are stuck in honey (no I don’t make this stuff up).
Thinks he can read; he told me, “Mom, this book says ‘Kids Can Read’ and this one says ‘Kids Can’t Read’”
Has an affinity for the word, ‘sure’ as in ‘These sure are big steps,’ ‘That sure was fun,’ and ‘Your hair sure is long, Mommy’
Calls windmills, ‘windblows’
When we read books if we hesitate too long on a page, he’ll quip, ‘Talk about it’
Would rather clean the floor or dust or vacuum than play (he is an insanely wicked hybrid of his mother and father’s cleanliness and OCD neat-freak-ness).