Last week you turned three years old. It's the right of every mother on her child's birthday to say, "I can't believe you're that old already!", so I'm saying it again - how have three years passed since you were born? I still remember screaming and pushing and opening my eyes to see you held up in front of me, your little red face scrunched up in a cry. They gave you to me and you snuggled into my chest and stopped crying. You've been my sweet snuggler ever since.
Sometimes you'll crawl on the couch with me now. And sometimes I might be frustrated with you because you've been crying over something, and I don't know why - but you look at me and say "Mama, I want a hug." And in those little moments you make me slow down, and cuddle you, and treasure your sweet smallness. These days when just a hug will solve all your woes.
You are my little conversationalist, with a million questions, and a million ideas of how things work. You are a shockingly good communicator for just turning three. We moved you up to the middle seat in the van this year, and the moment we did, you started talking my ear off. Now you had my attention; now I was close enough in the van to hear everything you said. And I love it, I love having you close and hearing all your thoughts. Your sister is asking to move up, and you are asking to move back with your brother...and though I know it will be just as much a joy to hear all of her thoughts, I'm going to miss you too, way back there in the van.
Everyday you seem to find a way to make me stop and appreciate your stage, our stage. I can be having the worst day ever, and you'll pipe up and say "You're the best mama ever!" "You look pretty, Mama." or "I love you so much!" And suddenly it's impossible not to see what a precious time this is, and to be grateful for every second. You help these years to not just pass in a blur, my sweet boy. And I will be forever grateful to God for making you mine.
Happy Birthday, Sweet Clyde!