It's your third birthday.

Wow. Just...wow. Three already?! Honestly, it doesn't seem as though three entire years have passed already since your birth. One thousand and ninety-five days. What happened to them all?!!!

I find myself really paying attention lately. Because I know that each day is fleeting. Every moment is to be cherished and recognized as an occasion that will never again occur. When you were born I felt as though you'd always be a demanding infant. Even though I'd had children already...it seemed to me then that what was was what would be forever. And my logical self couldn't reason my emotional self out of that perception. Then, suddenly, I realized...things had changed. You weren't a baby any longer. But...when did that happen? I must not have been looking.

But here you are. Three years old. Your vocabulary is at this point immeasurable. You know more words than I can count. You approach new situations and experiences without reservation. You express sheer joy. As well as sheer disappointment and sadness. Your ignorance and naivete are admirable qualities. In most cases, you assume that what you see is what you'll get. In other cases, you assume that what you can't see is what you'll get. You're enviably imaginative. Lately you've been hanging out with invisible friends. Sometimes it's Bitzer. Other times it's the Farmer. Or Shirley. Or just a stray doggie.

Speaking of doggies...we bought you a standard poodle for your birthday in hopes that you and she would become bosom buddies. So far your dog has proven only to be a neurotic paranoid. But she's new, just off the farm. So we hold out hope that this relationship will be all that it was presumed it would be.

Some things you say, or have said, that deserve mention:

"My" do/did/have/want it.

"Alligator" = Elevator and/or escalator

"Where's Benjamin?" (covers eyes, nothing else).

"Why?" (Started about a month ago...asked incessantly. No sign of abating.)

"My doos it." (Doos = does/did)

There are so many more. I need to make a concerted effort to write them down. But at this point...it's 11:30 p.m. and I'm tired. Your father is lying beside me snoring. And the dog is into something it ought not to be.

I love you, Sweet Boy. Your existence brings me joy. And hope. I love you more than life.

Happy birthday my awesome son. I love you completely.