Three-year-olds might need to be reminded 18 times to put on their coats.
They might wake you up at 2am because their blanket fell off.
They might shriek like a howler monkey when you brush their hair, or spit toothpaste all over the bathroom when you brush their teeth.
But three-year-olds also hold your face when they kiss your cheek.
They cuddle in close on a couch and make you redefine “home.”
And my three-year-old has taken to calling me “my majesty” which makes scraping oatmeal off the floor, my shoes, and an Etch a Sketch much more enjoyable.
Three is challenging.
Three is silly.
Three is exhausting.
Three is inspiring.
Three is maddening.
But oh my sweet three-year-old, what I wouldn’t give to bottle you up. Just as you are.
Because in the early morning hours with your face close to mine, and on a park swing giggling uncontrollably, and in a parking lot when you hold my hand, all I can think is that three is magic.
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