An open letter to Finlay on his third birthday,
Hey Finny!
We came home from the park the other day and, in my rush to get us in and out of the cold, I unzipped your coat in the same way that I have done so for the last couple of years. It seemed harmless enough, even natural and maternal, only this time was different. You yelled "NO! Finlay do it!" and threw yourself to the bamboo floor and wailed. I tried to rub your back, I explained that I had just forgotten you could do it, I offered to put the coat back on and do it up so that you could undo it without my assistance (an option that has worked before) but nothing I suggested would do.
"Finny, what would make you feel better then?"
"Baby!" You wanted me to rock you like a baby. Talk to you the way I talk to your little brother Seamus. So I scooped you up off the floor, all 40 lbs of you, and carried you to our nursing chair. Even though, to my dismay, you weaned yourself at 17 months, I still call it our chair. We rocked and cooed and said "ah, goo" to each other.
We snuggled.
We chatted.
We connected.
My baby has become a little kid. You can take off your jacket all by yourself. You can entertain me with your dancing and singing performance of "Step in time." You can climb up to the top bunk of your bunk beds. You can climb down. I never thought it would happen, but you can walk along with us on the side-walk at a reasonable speed and we will actually reach our destination. You can infuriate me when you find buttons to push. You still melt my heart when you smile, or laugh, or make your brother laugh.
You can take off your jacket without my help. You help me put away groceries and stop Shay from eating stuff off of the floor. It's amazing to me that you can climb a tree and sing words to songs. Your memory astounds me.
But you still need me to rock you like a baby sometimes. And I love it.
Very soon, you will be able to do many more things all by yourself. I know that this time that I have with you, these moments rocking you in our chair; the smell of your hair, your soft skin, the chub on your little legs, and the way that you smile with your entire being; these moments are fleeting.
Because I know this, I don't take a second of you for granted. Not the heart-melting ones nor the pull-my-hair-out ones. Three is big. And you are getting bigger.
I'd like to be able to say that the bigger you get the more I know you. That is how I thought this would go. But the peak of knowing you has come and gone; some time ago, when you were smaller and I could predict your needs and knew your cues. Now, at three, you are full of surprises. I grew you in my body but I did not create you. You create yourself in every moment. You become more yourself each day.
So, this is what '3' looks like.
It looks different all the time.
But whether you are '3' or '33' I am always open to connect with you - even outside of the comfort of our chair.
Love always,
Mama
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