I can’t say how it is I got here.
I swear I am still sitting in his bedroom nursing him while rocking in the chair…an occasional thud on the wall from rocking too hard at times. I swear I am reading about colic and food allergies/sensitivities and elimination diets. I swear I can smell his newness and my finger is sweating from how long he’s held it while asleep. I swear I’m wrapping him tightly against my body and trying to figure out what my life’s new normal with a fresh new baby looks like in the haze of sleep depravation.
But I am not. Because I am here, writing at my desk and he is playing tow-truck in the basement as happy as a clam. He knows how to get his own water. His own snacks. He talks about anything. He asks to talk to you after a hard moment to let you know that he did not, at all, appreciate your tone of voice. He likes to squish his face and memorize author’s names. He asks if things are gluten, dairy and soy free. He rebels and asks for a taste of goat cheese. He planned every last detail of his birthday party, and made sure I wrote it down on my phone so I didn’t forget. His sister is his best friend and would do anything for her. He knows his full name and the words to his favorite song (My Type by Saint Motel). He is a fresh three year old who is not little at all, but in fact, “really big!”. And I am still a tired mommy trying to figure out what life with a fresh three year old looks like.
All photos are from the days leading up to his birthday and the weekend of his birthday. All images shot on film.