Hello Cheeky Chops
'Can I have water,' mouths Z at bedtime, for the fifth time, thinking he can get away with it if he whispers and makes his eyes as round as puss in boots.
I know the sweet whispers will turn into loud whining if I say anything but yes, so I acquiesce with some dramatic eye rolling.As I watch him twist the bottle open and tilt it up to his face, scrawny and adorable in his space-themed pajamas, I wonder -
How did he grow so fast?
From that tiny alien-like creature with flaky skin and gummy eyes, whose only activity was to gaze deeply at things within 2 feet, sleep or drink milk, who couldn't even lift his head and only mewl as loud as a tiny lamb ...
To this fiery bundle of endless energy and big emotions and bubbling affection and unbridled cheekiness?
'Thank you, your majesty PINK!' he says to me when I pour some milk into his cereal.
He loves adding the word pink to things and says it in this really teasing voice that I find funny because I'm biologically ordained to love him a LOT. (I can just imagine how much it would wind a sibling up.)
The other day I dared to make him peanutbutter toast for breakfast and he stamped his foot, coming into the kitchen saying: 'I am angry. I am very, very angry right now. Because of this toast.'
Since for a change we weren't running late for life, I found it all quite funny and got him yogurt with granola instead. (P.S. He ate that toast a few hours later when he remembered he actually loves his carbs, just like his mama.)
I love three and a half. The level of independence and understanding means we can go on easy hikes together. We went strawberry picking and he loved it, finding strawberries and then cutting wildflowers for our £5 vase. The scisssor handling was a bit precarious but he mostly listened quite well and all our fingers are in tact.
His cheeks are still round, he still finds it hilarious when I hide behind the bar stool and jump up like Jane-in-the-box. I no longer have to sneak out of the house if I'm going somewhere (work or play) without him - he will just wave at me cutely.
'Thank you, your majesty PINK!' he says to me when I pour some milk into his cereal.
He loves adding the word pink to things and says it in this really teasing voice that I find funny because I'm biologically ordained to love him a LOT. (I can just imagine how much it would wind a sibling up.)
The other day I dared to make him peanutbutter toast for breakfast and he stamped his foot, coming into the kitchen saying: 'I am angry. I am very, very angry right now. Because of this toast.'
Since for a change we weren't running late for life, I found it all quite funny and got him yogurt with granola instead. (P.S. He ate that toast a few hours later when he remembered he actually loves his carbs, just like his mama.)
I love three and a half. The level of independence and understanding means we can go on easy hikes together. We went strawberry picking and he loved it, finding strawberries and then cutting wildflowers for our £5 vase. The scisssor handling was a bit precarious but he mostly listened quite well and all our fingers are in tact.
His cheeks are still round, he still finds it hilarious when I hide behind the bar stool and jump up like Jane-in-the-box. I no longer have to sneak out of the house if I'm going somewhere (work or play) without him - he will just wave at me cutely.
Don't get me wrong, he is still a toddler and the emotions are extreme (although that's the same for us even now at 35 so...).
I can't dress him in cute dungarees anymore, can't even bribe him into a smart dress shirt. He is predictable about his wardrobe though, I even know the order of preference for the 5 shirts he wears.
He no longer melts into a squirmy blubbering lava puddle (generally) when he doesn't get his favourite vehicle at a play area.
He no longer melts into a squirmy blubbering lava puddle (generally) when he doesn't get his favourite vehicle at a play area.
Instead he follows the other kid around, muttering under his breath, occasionally stealing pathetic looks at me which I studiously ignore.
The overpowering ego of the two year old has taken a small step back and they're definitely better at sharing.
The overpowering ego of the two year old has taken a small step back and they're definitely better at sharing.
The cheekiness though - through the roof, mate.
'I want to TINK you!' with goblin-like mischief, Zain runs up to me and smacks me on my sitting muscles (my polite substitute for bum) as hard as possible, and if you think, 'how much damage can a 3-year-old inflict,' I would like to invite you to my house.
Although you'd have to stay for a long time for Z to be comfortable enough to start smacking your bottom ... little things to be grateful for I guess.
He is growing too fast and every day I am grateful to have him in my life. (P.S. also several times a day I will be at my wit's end with the drama and endless negotiation)
He is such a smart cookie. He has most of his books memorised, which he reads out in his adorable chipmunk voice.
He often understands and agrees - grumpily - to logic (you've already had two biscuits so that's enough sugar for today!), and is impressively in tune with other people's emotions (dare I say more than many 30+ year old males).
'It's okay, don't worry about it.'
Here he was helping us gain some perspective on a day going wrong -
It was the second time I'd told Z we were going for a drive (finally!) in our new old car and the car had refused to start.
Instead of having a meltdown or whining, Z was the one comforting me and telling me it was going to be fine, we can ask the policeman to come and fix it, he told me. Or the plumber.
He is always wanting to make sure his family and friends are happy, checking in with sad or sulky expressions. He is also quite in touch with his own emotions and expresses them better than many adults.
'I want to cry,' he told me sadly after I'd told him off for not sitting on his potty properly and weeing outside the potty.
The stage of constant questioning is upon us now, with each 'why' leading to another one and eventually all coming to the same destination of 'I don't know! Can you please stop saying why?!'
The unexpected turns our conversations take is probably one of my favourite parts about this stage.
'Where did this Duggee come from?' He asked me at bedtime recently, pointing to his stuffed toy.
'Amazon,' I tell him.
'Thank you Mama, thank you for getting my dugee from amazin. And thank you for the spidey mask too.' (Thanks Lauren mami for the superhero masks!)
And then the other day when he woke up to find me not next to him, calling out 'ma-maaaaa' and I said, jee, baby? And he replied. 'I am all alone here.'
I continue going to sleep next to him in his room at the second 'mamaaaaa' of the night. It works for us for now so I'm chilled about it. (Not so recent discovery: there are many ways to parent and live your life, and one need not rank these various decisions and actions in a moral or social hierarchy! There is no giant book that ranks all mamas and babas in the world, no comparative scores or scales, no gold medals to snatch from anyone, no first positions, so like forget what Wendy or Salma does and make your own decisions about what's good for you and your family.)
But seriously. 3 year olds are pretty great. The whinging years have definitely begun, but the cuteness and sassiness just makes things funny and lovely. A lot of the times.
'You're my best boy', I told him on our way back from nursery.
'You're not my best mama', he replied, then looked at me and said, 'I want a different mama.'
Yep. I kid you not.
'Okay, fine, I'm going then,' I told him, 'bye' and he quickly rid himself of the sass. 'Noooo, I want this mama!'
Okay, I'll stay, I grinned.
'I want to TINK you!' with goblin-like mischief, Zain runs up to me and smacks me on my sitting muscles (my polite substitute for bum) as hard as possible, and if you think, 'how much damage can a 3-year-old inflict,' I would like to invite you to my house.
Although you'd have to stay for a long time for Z to be comfortable enough to start smacking your bottom ... little things to be grateful for I guess.
He is growing too fast and every day I am grateful to have him in my life. (P.S. also several times a day I will be at my wit's end with the drama and endless negotiation)
He is such a smart cookie. He has most of his books memorised, which he reads out in his adorable chipmunk voice.
He often understands and agrees - grumpily - to logic (you've already had two biscuits so that's enough sugar for today!), and is impressively in tune with other people's emotions (dare I say more than many 30+ year old males).
'It's okay, don't worry about it.'
Here he was helping us gain some perspective on a day going wrong -
It was the second time I'd told Z we were going for a drive (finally!) in our new old car and the car had refused to start.
Instead of having a meltdown or whining, Z was the one comforting me and telling me it was going to be fine, we can ask the policeman to come and fix it, he told me. Or the plumber.
He is always wanting to make sure his family and friends are happy, checking in with sad or sulky expressions. He is also quite in touch with his own emotions and expresses them better than many adults.
'I want to cry,' he told me sadly after I'd told him off for not sitting on his potty properly and weeing outside the potty.
The stage of constant questioning is upon us now, with each 'why' leading to another one and eventually all coming to the same destination of 'I don't know! Can you please stop saying why?!'
The unexpected turns our conversations take is probably one of my favourite parts about this stage.
'Where did this Duggee come from?' He asked me at bedtime recently, pointing to his stuffed toy.
'Amazon,' I tell him.
'Thank you Mama, thank you for getting my dugee from amazin. And thank you for the spidey mask too.' (Thanks Lauren mami for the superhero masks!)
And then the other day when he woke up to find me not next to him, calling out 'ma-maaaaa' and I said, jee, baby? And he replied. 'I am all alone here.'
I continue going to sleep next to him in his room at the second 'mamaaaaa' of the night. It works for us for now so I'm chilled about it. (Not so recent discovery: there are many ways to parent and live your life, and one need not rank these various decisions and actions in a moral or social hierarchy! There is no giant book that ranks all mamas and babas in the world, no comparative scores or scales, no gold medals to snatch from anyone, no first positions, so like forget what Wendy or Salma does and make your own decisions about what's good for you and your family.)
But seriously. 3 year olds are pretty great. The whinging years have definitely begun, but the cuteness and sassiness just makes things funny and lovely. A lot of the times.
'You're my best boy', I told him on our way back from nursery.
'You're not my best mama', he replied, then looked at me and said, 'I want a different mama.'
Yep. I kid you not.
'Okay, fine, I'm going then,' I told him, 'bye' and he quickly rid himself of the sass. 'Noooo, I want this mama!'
Okay, I'll stay, I grinned.
Super pleased I got to win this one.
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