Dear Tate,
Last week you turned three years old. Holy. Wow. You’re not a baby anymore. You’re not a toddler either. You are a real life, little boy! This blows my mind. You are my youngest, so I’m sure to some extent you will always be “my baby,” but looking at you now, I know those baby days are over for our family. It’s a little sad, but mostly wonderful. I am excited for the next year! Heck, I’m excited for the next several years. Little boys are pretty fun, and having you around to keep us on our toes will be a blast.
You are what people call a “strong willed child.” You are very, VERY stubborn. You know what you want, and it doesn’t matter if it makes no sense or if you can’t exactly express it, if people around you don’t comply, they’d better look out. Your tantrums are epic, so much so, I find myself working my day around avoiding them. On the converse, your happiness can be felt for miles. When you are being silly or joyful, it is just as epic as those tantrums. It’s the best (best?) of both worlds.
You are smart, Tate. Very, very, VERY smart. You are smarter than me already, and the worst part is, you know it! Most of the trouble you get into is because you are attempting to outsmart your father or myself, and a small part of your plan goes awry. You are sneaky and mischievous, a little grin on your cherubic face as you break rules and push boundaries. Oh, that face! You still have those lengthy eyelashes and big blue eyes, which you open wide when you know you’ve been caught. Your voice is so sweet these days, and a little “I’m sowwyy, mama” gets you right back in the game. Moms, we are so gullible.
You are my little buddy. In addition to all your silly and trouble-making antics, you are also one of the sweetest children I’ve ever known. At night you ask me to sit with you in your bed, singing “Moon River” and stroking my face. When I am hurting or sad, you are the first one that notices. You bring me your blanky and snuggle close, even if it’s just for a second. You love to dance and sing, and we’ve spent countless hours making up songs about your trucks and trains or about your family. You adore your big sister, even though you have perfected the role of annoying little brother. You want to “give her love” and then you smash the Lego set she’s spent hours building, with a little gleam in your eye. When she has friends over, you cry at her bedroom door because you want to play too. You two love each other, even when it’s not always easy, and for that I’m so grateful.
This year will surely be a full one, Tate. There will be train sets to build and pictures to draw, soccer balls to kick and scooters to ride, snowmen to build and snowmen to smash into a million pieces. I know it will all be a blast, as long as it’s with you. I love you, my sweet boy. You are my gift.
Love,
Mama
