Me, myself and Mr. I

In just a few short weeks you'll be four years old. FOUR. Already. How does that happen anyway? And dare I even think about how next year around this time you'll be starting kindergarten? I think I need a moment to let that sink in. Actually? Let's pretend I didn't even mention it. I can't stand to even think about it yet. You are simply growing up way to fast. You are tall for your age. Most people that see you are shocked to learn that you are still only three. That is if they even notice your height since most can't seem to get past your gorgeous, long, curly hair. I've lost count, the number of times a stranger has commented on how lovely your hair is. And to think you are going to eventually hate it.

Granted, I'm more attached to it then you are but still. I can't bring myself to cut it short. You keep saying you want a mohawk of all things. But in my mind that's just you trying to be like your big brother. And now that I think about it, I think you enjoy having longer hair. I've caught you several times over the last few weeks brushing your hair. You've even asked me to brush it for you. And when I stop? You ask me to brush it just a little bit more. It's moments like those that make me cling to the idea that you are still in fact, my baby. YOU? Growing up? NO WAY. Your knees are skinned all to hell, covered in band-aids that are days (maybe even weeks) old that you refuse to let me take off. I attribute your clumsiness to the fact that you can't keep up with your fast growing body. You are all legs and arms. But you still love it when I scoop you up and hold you just the same. You love to be tickled and have the most infectious laugh I've heard in a long time. You are always by my side stepping on my toes, wanting something to eat (GUM is your favorite foodstuff at the moment) or protesting what's cooking for dinner because you'd rather 'go out to eat'. You are always on the go. You love loud music, dancing and singing really loud. You are so much like me it's not even funny. People tell me all the time that you look a lot like me, but if you look closely you have your dad's features.

Well, except for the nose, the lips, the eyes and your fresh new freckles.

You have no fear and are always testing the limits on how high you can jump, how fast you can peddle your tiny little bike or how much food you can cram in your mouth so you can just outside and play already. You can't sit still long enough to watch TV, but you love to be outside. You love to play in dirt. You love being mischievous because you know how to get away it. That sweet little innocent face. How could anyone resist? You are doing remarkably well at 'school' and absolutely enjoy 'bring your bike to school day' and 'swimming day'. Your teachers love you and tell me all the time how well behaved you are. Except for that one day last week when you lifted up that little girl's dress. I am excited for you to start speech therapy once school is back in session, even though at this point I don't think you really need it anymore. I love how naive and honest you are, even if it stings a little to hear your realizations. Yes, you told me that I was fat. But then made me feel all better because you reassured me that 'you loved me anyway'. You talk in your sleep and still manage to sneak your way into my bed at night. It's not as often as it used to be but still, I would have thought by now you'd be okay with sleeping in your own room. But I guess not. And honestly? I haven't done much to keep you from doing it.

You are so sweet when you cuddle up to me and hug my neck tight. You are something else kid. And I wouldn't change anything for the world.