A little over a week ago, you turned three years old. That morning you assured me that you were now a Big Boy, and so I let you drive the car to Whole Foods to pick us up some bagels and milk. What?! We were hungry! Okay, you didn’t really drive anywhere–but you could have. I don’t think anyone would have batted an eye to see you emerge from the driver’s side with your neon green sunglasses perched atop your nose, car keys dangling from your back pocket. Like your brother, you exude self-confidence beyond your years. I think some people may call it “attitude”, but “not” your parents. We just accept it as inevitable given the amount of sass apparently hard-coded into our DNA.
This doesn’t mean you’re obnoxious, though. You’re (objectively speaking) one of the sweetest kids I’ve ever met, and you are kind, empathic, and always smiling. Your teachers gush about your humbleness and your loving nature, and I smile politely, my head nodding in agreement. Of course I agree with them, but I also know that you have a built in swagger some 19th century novels might have made an example of, just for laughs. Like when you wave your forefinger in the air and say to your father, “Stefan! You should just relax, okay?” when he asks you to pick up your toys.
Ah, three years old. Your name is Satan.
These days you try to do everything your brother does and you follow him around with the loyalty of a yellow lab. It’s so much fun when he declares in 35 degree weather that he doesn’t want to wear his jacket because big kids don’t need jackets, and then you declare the same only louder and with more emphasis. The funnest.
In fairness, he follows you around quite a bit too, and waits for you before doing simple things like visiting the bathroom, sitting down for a meal, getting ready for bed, or thinking. You two have the kind of sibling relationship that I hope with all my heart will endure the tumultuous teenage years and keep you both at least a phone call away from each other always. But we may need to stow away the Hot Wheels for a while, just to maintain a little dignity in our family.
And speaking of growing up…
I would happily give my right arm if it meant I could have just thirty seconds a day for the rest of my life with you snuggled in my neck in the mornings. However, can we skip the sweet-voiced demands that I get out of bed at 6:15AM because you’re hungry? I think you know how to pour your own milk now, right, Big Boy?
I love you so much, caballito. Please slow down your growing just a little for me, okay?
Con mucho amor para siempre,