A Letter to My Three-Year-Old
Updated: Feb 15, 2019
Year three has been a big year for you.
You really came into your new role as a big sister so amazingly. Although you are still such a tiny human, your heart is tremendous, and that is never clearer than when you love on MJ. He is absolutely blessed on the big sister front. I can’t wait to continue to watch the two of you strengthen your sibling bond.
You also started preschool. Me and dad were so anxious to see how you were going to adjust. For the first two years of your life, you were loved and looked after at a small home daycare, and the transition to big kid school was filled with unknowns. But, our anxious feelings were for naught, because you adjusted like a pro. Yes, there have been some hiccups, but I’ll never forget the day that I picked you up early on Halloween, and a dozen kids started calling your name and waving good bye. The fact that you’ve made so many friends so quickly is a testament to your spirit.
With all that has happened this year – big and small – I can see you discovering things about yourself. You learned that you only really like “soft cheese” (soft = melted), have a passion for coloring and drawing, and that you love to perform but are not so crazy about team sports.
And I’ve been learning, too. Not just about your cheese and artistic preferences, but that you communicate through affection in such vulnerable ways (even if you’re mid-tantrum, you have no shame in asking for a hug), and that even the possibility that you may have hurt someone’s feelings breaks your heart. You’re empathetic, caring, stubborn, emotional, loud, and most of all hilarious. And the thought that you were formed in my womb and you are now out in the world building sand castles at recess and flossing your own teeth at bedtime is a miracle that I don’t think I’ll ever come to terms with.
You test my patience, my urge to control everything, and my obsessiveness about keeping things clean and organized, but I’m working on doing better and learning from my mistakes. I’m not perfect, I know. After a long day at work, my patience level may not be where we’d both like it to be. Or I may glance at my phone one too many times. Or I may be too focused on getting you to bed at a reasonable time, and not focused enough on the small marvels that fly by us so quickly in each moment.
But you pull me back in. You remind me to keep dancing during the third rotation of “Baby Shark,” and you center me when out of absolutely nowhere you declare “Mommy, I love you..” while you absentmindedly play with your truck. And you humble me when you come running to greet me every day while screaming my name with glee. And because of all that you do, I promise that in year four, I’ll try to make a bigger effort to stay centered, to stay humble… to stay “in.”
In three short weeks, you’ll be four. And I’m so excited for what happens next.
Also read: A Letter to My Infant Son