"Three! Yeah, that's the magic number" ~ Bob Dorough
Wow, Q. Just wow. Today you are 3 years old. It amazes me that I've only know you for three years, that I know you better than anyone I've ever known and it's only been three years. It amazes me that you are already three years old, that just a minute ago you were two, that just yesterday you were one, that a week or two ago you were just entering this mad, mad world. You are leaving the world of toddlerhood behind and entering boyhood. Sometimes I look at you and can't believe how big you've grown, how much you look like a boy and not a baby. Sometimes I look at you and find it incredible that you're this little guy, so small with so much growing yet to do. Such big, innocent eyes of blue.
You have such a zest and curiosity for all that life has to offer. Instead of asking the typical "what's that?" when you see something new and intriguing, you simply say, "That?!" -- half question, half exclamation. I say, "That's a unicycle." Or, "I know. That's a big crane!" We start speech therapy next week, so you may be saying "what's that?" soon enough, but for now I will enjoy the simplicity-mixed-with-excitement of your expression.
You have gone through a big ol' heap of changes in the last few months and it's been rough on you. I know that. From watching your mom's belly grow so big that she couldn't carry you far to starting preschool to sharing your home with baby sister to dislocating your elbow. You need your mommy more than ever and my energy is split between you and your sister. But you're starting to adjust. You are embracing the role of big brother as you entertain Z with your silliness and songs. "Baby-town, baby-town, baby-town, baby-town . . ." you sing as you tickle her legs. I have no idea where that came from, but it sure does crack us up.
|Already looking up to her big bro.|
You love music, which makes us so proud. You're a drummer, but you want to blow a horn, strum a guitar, and tinker with a piano, too. You even try to imitate Biz's beatboxing. Let it flow, Q, let yourself go!
When we've asked how old you're going to be on your birthday, you say "three and half." No, sweet boy, just three for now. Please don't rush forward six months. It's all going by way too fast as it is. Happy Birthday, Quincy Kye! You are my favorite little guy. The apple of my eye. I'll stop rhyming before you cry . . . or I do.