Ever Four-ward

Dear Mercy,

I've often told you that I wanted to be a mommy my whole life. But the truth of the matter is that I wanted to be the mommy of a three-year-old girl my whole life. So this year was a dream come true and I was not disappointed. I've joined in your play world as a hairdressing client, pedicure client, doctor's patient, optometrist's patient, restaurant patron. Oh the tons and tons of play food you've carefully prepared for me. When you play princess, you call me the queen and for a moment I feel regal. When you play hide and seek, you always tell me where you're going to hide just to make sure you get found. Lots of silliness and giggling and funny faces. Knock-knock jokes that don't make any sense at all. Lots of art. You learned to skip. You learned to write your name. You learned you could do all sorts of things.

The dress-up, pretending, curiosity, constant questions I anticipated. I was not prepared for your depth and insight and maturity and capability. This year you danced in a class for 4-6 year-olds. You started to play an instrument. You helped your Sunday school teachers with the much younger 2-year-olds. This year I learned from you.

Three was different than I imagined because of the circumstances. After "terrific twos," you started tantrumming at the beginning of Three. And I was a cranky pregnant lady. I wanted to take you fun places like I did when you were two and do lots of special things together and teach you how to read before the baby came, but I was just...so...tired. You understood. You were patient and picked things up off the floor for me when I couldn't. We both got better.

Your three-year-old-hood was mainly marked by becoming a sibling. How much we both cried in the first few weeks because of the intrusion on our relationship. We spent the rest of the year establishing a new normal, as a threesome. You adapted more quickly than I did. You naturally assumed the role of dutiful first-born. You love to help and make Sister laugh and do so many things instinctively, without being told. That's just you. She is so lucky to have YOU as her big sister.

I'm looking four-ward to the future, don't get me wrong. There are lots of good things coming up. I'll just miss Three, that's all. Tomorrow you'll just be so much older.

So I've spent the week in tears. You keep silently bringing me Kleenex and rubbing my back because you know it's okay to be "emosonal." Your compassion astounds me. Today will be no different than others, we'll have our routines and do what we do. Except that it is different. Today is the very last day that you'll be Three.

(Mommy)