Hugh. My sweet boy. Sometimes I forget he is still only 3 years old. Compared to his baby sister, he seems ancient. We lose our patience with him too quickly some days and have to step back and remember, he's still only 3.
He knows way too many swear words (and the exact context in which to use said words), pushes way too many limits ("I can cut the package open myself, Mommy"), and stays up way too late.
He showers himself, feeds himself, dresses himself. He kisses his own boo-boo's when he falls down. It's so easy to forget, he's only 3. I know in the blink of an eye he will be grown, and I will look back and wish I had savored every painful toddler moment. The days I am disheveled and going bat-shit crazy, I must remember, he's only 3, and it will only last a short while. For now on, I will enjoy every crazy 3 year-old moment he has to offer me. Especially these sweet sleepy moments when he decides to take a nap in my bed.
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