Thursday, November 24, 2011

A Three Year Old is in the House

Evan turned 3 today!  3!!  

Evan with his clown cake.

It astounds me each day how much my boys grow and change and learn new things.  One day I am holding them in my arms and helping them with everything while getting in all the cuddles I can.  And then, after what seems like just one sleep, they are dressing themselves and teaching me songs they've learned.  It's the affliction of every parent - how do they grow up so fast?

While Nicholas is my youngest, Evan is my baby.  Or was.  He perched on my forearm for the first year of his life, stayed close to me where ever I was in the house, never wandered far from my side when we were out.  But then, one day I noticed he wasn't playing by my side, he was off with his big brothers.  He no longer wants to ride in the shopping cart when he can wander and "help" me. 

Today was his birthday so we made it a special day for him.  He was a bit confused by us celebrating without the rest of the family we've been planning will come for his birthday party.  Where were Grandma and Granddad?  And when I asked what kind of cake he wanted he insisted he had to have a clown cake.  Grandma will be creating a true clown cake for his big birthday party so he couldn't understand that he could have any kind of dessert he wanted tonight; he wanted a clown cake.  Although far from professional, I was pleased our improvised clown cake ended up looking somewhat like what it should considering there were 4 pairs of hands helping me create it.

And so today has marked the day that my little boy is no longer a baby.  To look at him he doesn't resemble my image of him.  He can now look over the edge of the counter, he can use the potty all by himself, he can wash his hands by himself, he never stops talking, he can count to almost 20, he knows where he lives and his phone number, and he can spend 2 nights away at his grandparents all by himself.

But even though he looks like a 3 year old and acts like a 3 year old, I know my baby is still tucked away inside.  He still loves his cuddles, wants me to carry him, gives me spontaneous kisses, cries when he's frustrated, runs to me when he's scared and, best of all, tells me he loves me.  He also reminds me every day that he's "dust whittle still".  He's still just little enough to want his mommy to do things for him; even those things he can do for himself.  But I don't mind.  It helps me keep him little for a while longer.

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