She’s three, y’all. A big, brash, world-at-her-feet, three year old.
She sparkles, this daughter of mine. She’s inquisitive and curious. She loves telling stories. She’s got a new trick of running away from me and hiding in stores. (The local Ikea was a bit much, but y’know… three.) She gets pronouns mixed up. She thinks her sister likes her.
She eats almost every fruit put in front of her, but is a little iffy about blueberries. She enjoys some vegetables, usually devouring them after I tell her they’ll make her strong and smart. She has eczema all over her little body, and it flares from heat and milk. We can avoid the milk, but the heat in this part of Florida is just part of our lives. Thus, so are thick coats of aquaphor behind the knees and inside of the elbows.
Her hair is almost completely down her back. While I’ve trimmed her bangs from time to time, she needs a proper haircut. I’ve scheduled one in July and I just… it’s so grown up. She lets me match her in clothes with her sister. She prefers purple almost all the time. So far I’ve been lucky to avoid most character shirts. We’ll see how long it lasts.
She misses school, and there’s a definite pang when I realize it. She goes to classes a few times a week with other kids, but I know it’s not the same. I know we’ve made the right choice for her – and us, but I still wish she was at Montessori. (Heck, I miss my nanny more than just about everything.)
I’m both amazed and totally accepting of who she is. She’s exactly what I pictured her to be — the benefit, I suppose, of living with her daily. I get to spend most of every day soaking her in. Her delightful voice imploring me to “emember” (remember) something she told me last week – or more likely, something I told her. She’s creative and active and likes to run. She got a car for her third birthday from her grandparents; driving it to the park is a favorite activity.
I love her fiercely. Feel the need to protect her fiercely – protect her from all the outside sources that are coming for her. She dragged out her father’s scale to the playroom last night and asked me to weigh her. I told her she weighed “perfect.” She was entirely satisfied with that answer. Having not struggled with body issues as much as my peers, I really hope I can teach her accept herself. Her curly hair, her long legs, her bumpy skin.
Three. She’s a threenager – hands on hip, telling me “It is not fair to play” when I (or her sister) break the rules. After running away from me in a particularly dramatic place, I told her I was going to get her a leash. She informed me she was not a dog. She has rational thought,delirious sometimes in its swirling complexity. As with each age, I love the unfolding of new milestones and accomplishments.
Potty training could be going better, and I’m sure once we stop traveling every week it will get better. We’ve got two weeks left — then we can settle in for the long summer. Already, we’re spending lots of mornings at Gigi’s pool. Friday afternoons after work are reserved for Honeymoon Island. We’re slowly getting into the lull of summer.
Three years old, my darling CG. Man, that went fast.