Our baby is three! That must be some kind of mistake, right?
In the last year, we’ve become the parents of a full-on tiny person. One year ago he just repeated “Happy birthday!” (or, “Ha poopy!”) back at us when we said it to him, but this year he understands that birthdays mean cake and parties. He’s been running around chirping “Lukie birday! Let’s go birday party!” ever since we told him a few weeks ago that his birthday’s coming up. (He also says “Everybody birday!” so, not all the way there.) He’s also super jazzed for Halloween and wants “Mario go trick-or-treat candy.”
Currently, his favorite exclamation is “Oh my goodness,” he loves “hangubuhs” (hamburgers) and “crackuhs” (french fries) when he can get them, and calling things the wrong name just so he can correct us when we agree. (“That’s blue. That’s not blue! It’s green!”) He loves his dad more than anything in the world. He wants to know what letter every word starts with. He throws a mean tantrum but his belly laughs are like happiness incarnate. And he has utterly surprised us by how tender of a big brother he has been from the moment Clara’s carseat came through the door.
Two was a bundle of contradictions in every way possible–in many ways he seems like a gangly, 3-going-on-13 boy, all braggadocio, but then a whirr from a saw during renovations turns him right back into a toddler, crying and hiding in our laps. Or he’ll ask to cuddle (“Mommy lie down Lukie lie down?”) and his little back seems so narrow in our big bed. At that moment, I’m so relieved that he’s not quite grown up yet. He can be maddening and tiring and downright crazy but he is always, always the sweetest thing we have ever known. Thank you for making us parents, Lukaboo. Please don’t grow too fast yet.