A letter to my 3 year old

 

To my middle child,

It seems like only yesterday I was stroking the downy hair on your shoulders and your big brother was cradling you in his arms. When you first opened your huge blue eyes, you opened my eyes to a new type of parenting. One that baffles and frustrates me but also makes me melt and break into a million pieces on a daily basis.

You’re everyone in this families weakness – and we’ve all adored you since the day you were born. You’re our floppy haired baby boy and I can’t believe you’ve just turned 3.

No matter how much you try and raise your children ‘the same’ you’ve taught me this is just not possible. You’ve chucked the rule book your older brother made right out the window and made me start from scratch.

You are louder and quieter than him all at the same time. You’re a little mummy’s boy and you love music. You love to run and scream just because you’re happy, and you don’t give a damn who hears you.

You’re also hot headed and so emotionally intuitive it scares me. Every time you have a treat you ask for one for your brother and sister without hesitation.

When you kiss me, you press into me with all your energy and it fills my heart. You ask to hold my hand everyday and you listen when I tell you to stop. Your charming, like really charming and it worries me and makes me proud all at once.

You won’t remember the way you healed my tears as I nursed your sister during those dark days but one day i’ll remind you. With little words, you’d look up at me through your thick eyelashes and say “Mummy be happy?” Then you’d sit with me patiently just to be near me and make sure I was ok. You’re my soul mate and we’re always going to be the pair in our family that can have conversations without words.

Your life consists of being told to ‘hurry up’ or ‘wait a minute’ and the majority of the last three years I have spent in a flurry of fear. Fear that by having your little sister I’ve not given you the same attention that your older brother had. Fear that the reason you walked late was my fault, fear that the reason you talked less was my fault.

I battle each and everyday to understand you and help you through understanding yourself and the more and more I write this the more I realise you are like your Daddy.

A technicolored roller coaster and an emotional swing that pushes and pulls me through my everyday. Whilst Zachary is my stable, my constant  – you are my ride.

Happy third Birthday littlest man of mine.

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  • SoniaJuly 10, 2017 - 10:07 pm

    Lisa this is beautiful and I can relate to this on many levels, happy birthday orsonReplyCancel

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