Dear Tater Tot,
This weekend you turned four years old. When you woke up and I announced you were no longer three, you immediately burst into tears and informed me you WERE three and you didn’t want to be FOUR. I’m happy to report by the end of the day, four was totally cool and awesome, and you’d left three in the dust, with barely a passing wave. You’re like me in that way, buddy. Change scares the poo out of your mama, I don’t like it and I rail against it until I’m overtaken. Then I usually throw myself into it full force, no holds barred. When you realized four was truly happening, you seemed to say, “Welp, I guess that’s that! Let’s do this thing!”
In the last year, you’ve begun to grow into a spunky, little boy who keeps everyone on their toes. But somewhere between three and three and a half, your humor really began to shine. I’m not gonna lie, buddy, before that, I was a little worried I was going to be exhausted forever. You hadn’t been sleeping well, you were crabby on a near constant basis and you were ornery as all get out. I found my days with you feeling more and more like battles, and neither of us was winning. But one day it was like you flipped the switch, and since then we’ve both been much happier. It was a good reminder for me, that nothing lasts forever. When I start to get frustrated with your strong will, I remind myself of this. All I need to do is a wait awhile, and issues that I assumed would be never-ending….wait for it….end.
You laugh is loud and long. You don’t do anything small, Tater, everything is BIG BIG BIG! This was the year you started some of your own activities, which thrilled you. The past few years you life and schedule has been dictated by your big sister’s life. You’ve tagged along to her sports and classes for years, but now it’s your turn. You started preschool in the fall, and you are thriving. You love coming home and telling us about your friends and adventures, and your face lights up when you see your own artwork hanging on the fridge. You’ve also started playing a few recreational sports, like soccer and gymnastics, which is fun for you and us, because watching you compete is hilarious. Nothing is better than hearing you shout “I GOALED!” when you score at soccer and then watching you do a little celebration dance.
I’m so proud of the little man you are, Tate, and I’m so grateful to be your mama. Thank you for all the big hugs, cuddles, and love this past year. Thanks for always forgiving me when I mess up, and telling me I’m a good mama anyway. You’re the best son a mother could hope for. I love you, pumpkin nose.