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| Who, me? |
At this very moment, you're lying in bed singing "We Built This City on Rock and Roll" at the top of your lungs, even though you were supposed to be asleep almost an hour ago. Your Dad is downstairs & can't hear you, and I am a complete schmuck and can't bring myself to go yell at you on your birthday, of all days. I'm a sucker for pretty much everything you do, son. From the instant I held your little self in my arms, I knew I'd been had. That night you were born, you came out with that scrunched up, pouty look that you still get right when you're about to cry.
Ohhh, that pout. Throw that thing on top of that adorable Dudley Do-Right chin dimple and those big green eyes, and I'm a goner. You want ice cream for lunch? You got it. Wanna go play outside wearing nothing but your cowboy boots? Okey doke. Want to sleep in the dog bed? Knock yourself out, dude. I can't say no to you!
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| But look at this sweet pouty face, Mama.... |
Oh, and you know this darn well. You have known exactly how to pull my strings from Day 1. I remember one very late night, not all that long after you got home from the hospital. It was 4:00am, a late night following about 4 weeks of very late nights, where you were fussing, wouldn't burp after feeding, wouldn't go back to sleep on your own, and just driving your poor mother to exhaustion. After trying every trick in the book, I held you at the side of my bed as you fussed, looked you in the eye and demanded, "What do you want, baby!" You immediately stopped sqawking, looked me square in the eye and smiled your first, huge charming smile. I melted like butter -- you've had that same power over me from that day forth!
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| Noah, the pet-whisperer. I fear they're all plotting against me. |
Mr. Noah. I can't even remember what my life was like without your hilarious and crazy little break-dancin' self. How would I know what a Euphocepalus looks like? How would I understand the importance of constant snacking? How would I know which color light saber Obi Wan uses? How would I know that "poop" can be universally used as an adjective to describe everything, ever. What on earth would I do without your bony knees jabbing me in the belly when you lumber up into our bed at 3:00 every morning, then cover my face with your smelly-ass blankie?
You keep me from ever getting "too comfortable" with parenting, but show me the value of patience and kindness at every turn. You have shown me that a little curiousity and a big imagination can get you really far in life... or at least make you think you've gone really far, without caring about how far you've actually gone. Your free spirit and fearlessness are inspiring! And you have truly taught me that one can find humor in almost everything in life. Your giggle can make the shittiest day turn all sunshine & rainbows in no time at all!
The past three years have been a thrill ride with you in my life. I can't believe how quickly it's passed! The psycho-Mommy part of me wants to just steal these little moments away and keep you a baby forever. But the logical-Mommy part of me knows that you are growing up, there's nothing I can do to stop it, and I'm just gonna have to deal. I couldn't have asked for a better "surprise", Little Man. You made our family whole.
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| Happy 3rd Birthday Dino Dude! |
One night last week as we snuggled before bedtime, you brushed your chubby little hand ever-so gently across my cheek, looked adoringly into my eyes and said in the most angelic voice ever: "Mommy? You're a poopy head". Though I use lots and lots of them, there will just never be the right words to describe exactly how much I love you. So on this, the anniversary of the day you arrived on this Earth and into my life, I also say to you my dear son, "Noah? You're a poopy head."
Happy Third Birthday, Noah Grey.
Love,
Mommy
