Happy 3rd birthday to my favorite kid

Dear Ariana Juliet,

Happy 3rd birthday, Monster-Pants. (Don't ask, sweets... it's just one of a hundred senseless nicknames I have for you.)

I had myself all braced for this past year, and the infamous "Terrible Twos." But lately, more and more people have been telling me that it's really the Terrible Threes, and that 2 is nothing compared to 3. I suppose only time will tell if that's true for you. Because this past year... it's been pretty easy. Or, easier than I expected. Oh, sure, you've had your moments, your fits, your tantrums... but usually your mood is easily changed. I suppose that's the best and worst thing about this age--while your mood can quickly nosedive into a fit of anger, it can just as easily swoop back up into smiles and giggles.

Despite your lack of screaming tantrums, you are quite the whiner, and we've been working on that, trying to explain to you that you need to speak to us clearly if you need something. But of course, you still whine. Sometimes mere seconds after we've just talked about it. But it's OK. I still whine too, from time to time.

You are so smart, love, and learning so quickly now. You know your alphabet, and not only can you sing the song, but you can also recognize all the letters in writing (uppercase, anyway). You can even "read" your own name, and can spell "Ari." You are also a pro at counting. You know lots of shapes--even more uncommon ones, like oval and octagon. I take no credit for this--I know "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" has taught you a lot.

Speaking of that show, you still love it. You'll watch other shows, but "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" is definitely your favorite, and we keep several episodes stored on the DVR so that you can get your fix and have choices too. It's pretty much the first thing you ask for in the morning, even before food.

You're still not much of an eater... it's as if you're much too busy playing and exploring your world to take the time for something as trivial as eating. You do have a few staple foods that you love, and would eat all the time if we let you. Of course, we're always trying to get you to try new things, and most of the time, you refuse to even taste something before declaring, "I don't like it." In spite of that, you are pretty good about eating your vegetables, sometimes choosing carrots or broccoli over anything else. But you do have a sweet tooth. I'm amused at the way you seem to gravitate toward the junk foods that Daddy likes--Oatmeal Creme Pies, Swedish Fish, etc. Yet you still turn your nose up at cake and ice cream. Funny girl.

Our biggest struggle right now is potty-training, though it seems there might be a light at the end of the tunnel. Your clever Daddy got the idea the other day to inform you that when you turn 3, you'll officially be a big girl and will have to wear big-girl underwear all the time. I'm pretty sure he passed this knowledge along to you with an air of authority, as though it was a decision that was out of his hands and something you would simply have to comply with. And since he told you that a few days ago, you've been doing an excellent job during the day with keeping yourself dry. We can only hope that the end of our diaper/Pull-Up days is in sight.

You are starting to sing all on your own now, which I love so much. Sometimes it's "typical" songs like "Old McDonald Had a Farm" and sometimes it's made-up songs. You are also learning the songs we sing to you, and there's nothing sweeter than hearing your little voice join me when I sing "Birdhouse in Your Soul" or "The World Above" to you.

You are an adventurous little thing, which I know your Daddy loves. You learned to scale baby gates a long time ago (even the pointy-topped one in the doorway of your room), so we've removed them all, leaving you free to roam. It's strange to me that you can actually walk into our room and wake us up on Saturday mornings. You're still an excellent sleeper at night, going right to sleep and staying asleep, though I'm awaiting the day you decide to barge in on me and Daddy at an inopportune moment. (If you don't know what that means... go ask your father.)

We recently had to invest in a few doorknob covers, though, and a fairly complex contraption to secure the sliding glass door, after you escaped outside alone a couple times. Now I'm waiting for you to learn how to open the doors in spite of all our guards--I'm betting you've already thought about it.

You are absolutely a talker, a trait I attribute to your father. You tell us stories now, and often surprise us with how well you remember things from days ago. When you get really excited, you stutter and stammer, repeating certain phrases over and over until your thoughts catch up with your mouth. I never jump in to help you, even when I know how your sentence will end, because the stammering is just so cute. You have a bit of a lisp, too, which is absolutely endearing.

You are so sweet and affectionate, and it's becoming more and more unprompted. You use your sweetness to your advantage, though. I can't tell you how many times I've been in the middle of scolding you for something when you've looked at me with those amazing blue eyes and then leaned in for a hug, muttering into my shoulder, "I just want to give you a hug" or "I love you" in either an almost-teasing tone or an overly-sad tone, as though you're well aware of exactly what you're doing.

I was sitting with you in McDonald's a few days ago, across the booth from you, trying to convince you to eat your dinner. But you were more preoccupied with resting your feet on the edge of the table (which I scolded you for), turning your apple slice into a car, and playing peekaboo with an elderly man a few booths away. When he played along with you, you happily shrieked, "Mommy, he's playing peekaboo with me!", thrilled that you'd made a friend. And I could no longer find it in me to harass you about eating. Instead, I watched you amuse yourself in a hundred different ways, silently marveling at how grown-up you are now. No more highchair for you, and you almost don't even need to sit on your knees to reach the table. You are so tall, with skinny but long legs, and that mop of wild curls that everyone raves over, and that I fear you will someday hate. You are absolutely and definitely no longer a baby anymore, and even "toddler" seems too weak a word to define you. I suppose I need to start calling you a "preschooler" now, though I resist that term. It doesn't seem possible that you're old enough for school. But already, at church, you've officially moved from the nursery into the preschool class.

I'm looking forward to this coming year, babycakes, in spite of all the dire warnings I've heard. I can't wait to see what else you'll learn, how else you'll try my patience, and what other girly things you'll get into. A few weeks ago, you wanted your toenails painted, and not only that, you specifically wanted me to do it. I put you off until the next day, since it was bedtime, and I kept my promise the next morning. I painted my toenails too, and while I did, you randomly exclaimed, "This is fun, painting our toenails!" Yes... it was.

I love you so much, little girl.

Love,
Mommy



July 3, 2006