My Baby's 3! (Ode to Sean-Peter)

To my son, on his birthday:

It's okay that you can't speak intelligibly and I am often frustrated to the point of exhaustion because I don't know what you want. There are many, many days ahead of us when I will wish I could not understand what you are saying and will wish I could plead ignorance to what you want.

It's okay that you're not yet potty trained. That's pretty much your mom's fault as much as yours by this point. I plead myself overcome by events that are not within my control. Maybe if I wait long enough your dad will get so disgusted he will take care of it himself once he finishes his SOS coursework TOMORROW and reintroduces himself to his family.

It's okay that you seem to destroy everything you touch. It makes my job of decluttering that much easier and really makes me think twice before I bring something new into this home.

It's okay that you pick your nose to the extent that I have never witnessed a child picking his nose before. And that you eat your findings. Like you're starving. Which you might be because you never eat the wholesome food I prepare for you. And it just makes me laugh because it disgusts Conner so much and I tell him I prefer that to wiping the boogers on the walls, which is what he always did.

It's okay that this move whacked you out so that you only want mom-mom-mom-mom-mawm-maaaawm! That's completely normal and understandable, and I get that. This, too, shall pass. Three nights ago when I told you I needed to say goodnight you even let me because for the first time since we moved you wanted your daddy to come in and lie next to you. And I actually felt a little pang of jealousy. But just a little one. I knew enough to let it pass.

And it's okay that you want me to lie down with you until you fall asleep, even when that means you get me up in the middle of the night or that you pull me from the depths of a mountain of laundry beckoning to be folded while I'm engrossed in a cheesy Nora Roberts made-for-tv movie that just got to the best part. Last night I realized I was lying next to my two-year-old baby for the last time, and I had the sense to savor the moment.

Happy Birthday, big guy. You may give me a run for my money, but my days sure wouldn't be the same without you.