On Friday you turned three- my tiny, sparkly, special little bean.
Although in certain terms three doesn’t seem like many years, these last few seem to have flown by quicker than any I’ve ever experienced. I feel like I’ve blinked and suddenly I have a fully fledged little person climbing onto me (using me as merely a vessel for a colourful imagination that makes me everything from a climbing frame, horse, boat, and race car all from the moment you clamber upon my back).
I feel like just yesterday we were painting your nursery, panicking about how to change a nappy and wondering who this little person would turn out to be, and magically- it’s you. My sweet boy with dimpled hands that nearly constantly smell like fresh sticky tangerines and little plump cheeks that are like tiny cushions when we press up to each other for a cuddle.
I don’t know many three year olds, but you’re the smartest little spark. You’re inquisitive, chatty, kind and the biggest sunshine in my whole world. Your imagination is magic; you’re a knight, a king, and a roll of wrapping paper is a horse (or an elephants trunk, depending on the important game in hand) and I promise I’ll always be grateful and pay careful attention to your dinosaur corrections- I’m almost sure I know the difference between an ankylosaurus (big boulder-like swooshy tail) and raptor (little and quick) now.
I know I’ve said this before, but so much of being a parent is getting to see the beauty in the ordinary, and there’s something even more so about learning to see and feel it through your eyes as you grow. Whether that’s seeing the sky turn a flossy-pink when a low flying plane swoops overhead, or spotting the lights dotted on a crane at night (exciting!). I’ve also realised there are very *very* few people that will join me in listening to one song as many times over and over again as you do, and I love that we can listen to one song in the car on repeat and never get sick of it. That feels very special.
Most importantly, in the wobbly times, you’ve reminded me quietly that all that really matters is each other. That looking after each other (and myself, which is definitely sometimes tricker to remember) is all that really matters. When the trivial things feel weighty, heady or overwhelming sometimes a belly laugh, pretending to be a shark on the wooden lava floor, some baked beans and listening to Jemaine Clement as the big crab in Moana can shift that into a better place. So much of parenting is being mailable, bending, adjusting and changing shape to make the next thing work- and I do, I will and I have.
I’ve learnt that perhaps the juggle and the guilt might never disappear completely, and I think that’s really because I only want the world for you. More than anything I want to do right where I can, which I know is a constant journey of trying to do. Learning how to make peace with that and the ongoing push and pull of managing my own expectations as a mother, parent and big best friend to you will be something that like the weather, your taste in sandwiches and our favourite song on the Wonka soundtrack- will just change and become clearer as we go, and that, little one is always more than enough.
x
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