see the long feet?

the lack of diaper bulge in the back?

the spoon actually making it to the mouth?

the self-serve breakfast mess with a side of play clay? 

These are the undeniable signs that my baby is now three years old. Woe is me for I definitely cannot stop time.

For the past year I have carried a tattered receipt in my purse. On the back I have jotted down things Ryan said as we were out and about. To me it reads as the most beautiful poem in the world, here it is with the translations in italics:

Two Years Old

sebben dollars    

according to Ryan everything costs seven dollars

Broggy the Doggy- woof!    

his favorite game to play with his brothers

Poopey the Cat -meow   

a saucy cat he often morphs into when hurt or hungry or tired

last week    

just about everything happened last week

ruby juice in my ba ba    

75% H20, 25%  rio red Sunrype grapefruit juice,  served in a bottle

so booo-tiful   

the words that make me cry

the Germans are coming   

too many John Wayne war films with the boys,  gets a big "shuush"

no poo in my diaper Mom  

he definitely pooped his pants

can i watch a show?   

he loves to watch movies

Wufus , Wufus  

 Rufus, Rufus

you hold my hand?  

i'm nervous

me go to Winners?    

best kid in the world!

where's Poppa?!?   

poor Nana, he's obsessed with my crazy Dad

Dad take my nucky    

Mom, give Dad heck for snatching my soother

Wufus ate my cheesies  

Rufus is raiding his snack yet again

yay, my brodders  

yay, my brothers

i dunno…

this is how you start the answer to just about any question

me go shopping?   

these words bring Mommy great relief and bliss

Farewell two years old, I will miss you dearly. 

Three is generally a really fun age but it also means a big step away from babyhood and lots of tears from moi. With each boy this transition has been more heart wrenching as each time it becomes more and more clear just how fast the time with wee ones slips away. 

Perhaps that is why my boys are spaced around three years apart. Wish I knew I was done with babies….when I was a complete mess after my last c-section I swore I would remember when this time came upon me. I do, but in a rose-colored glasses kinda way. Not a drugged up, beached whale, overtired, cabbage on my engorged boobies kinda way. Except for all the needles, stomach staples and the dreaded epidural…I remember those things all too well.

Our God is surely a sneaky baby-loving power that be. It doesn't help that my boys are also dying to have another sibling and have been asking for a baby…except Ry who asked for a bird.

Happy Birthday my beloved Ry Ry. I am so blessed to be your Mama. You make me laugh, keep me on my toes, fill me with hope and wonder and warm my heart every single day. You'll always be my baby.

oxo

Post by Kerry MacLeod : www.snickerdoodles.ca