Happy Birthday, Toby.
What, you don't know that name?
Hmmmm, How about Tobes, Tobikins, Tob-EE-as, or (surprisingly enough), Tobias.
Yes, you know those. As well as Cutie Cutes, Stinker Stinks, Sweetie Sweets (sensing a theme?) and Poopy Doopy.
It's a good thing your Dad and I took so long to agree on your name, huh? After all, we're sooooo committed to it.
Well, here we are. My "baby" is three. Last Friday we said our goodbyes to Ms. Amber your play therapist. This Monday we had our last appointment with Ms. Elaine your OT. Later this afternoon we do your outtake assessment with Early Steps. Breath in. Breath out. (That's a reminder for me. You're totally like, whatev.)
Yesterday I watched you play in our new kiddie pool, chasing Blue and mimicking him as he jumped over the side and splash crashed inside. You gleefully followed suit, purposefully sliding into him, and I thought, when did you start playing like such a big boy?
The guest room closet is used for the "in between" clothes. Too small for Kaden, still too big for Blue. Too small for Blue, too big for you. Except, Mr. Weed-Fast-Grower, more and more clothes are going straight from Blue's drawer to yours. Your father has a hard enough time as it is if I ask him to put clothes away. Now, it will be impossible. Blue is FIVE, today you are THREE. What are you trying to prove, kid?
You are my snuggle buggle boy. The best part of my morning is the five (sometimes ten!) minutes you relax against me and drink your almond milk. I hope this is our tradition... forever? Is that too much to ask? You especially love to snuggle in "my bed" (which is what you say even though your talking about my bed). But you don't just reserve snuggles for me. You'll put that little head into any old shoulder that gives you a squeeze. You've won over many, many a heart that way.
I love your giggle. Especially when you're over-tired. The sillies attack and you pretty much can't even stand up you're so overcome with the hilarity of life.
I can always get a laugh out of you by saying, "guppy," or "bootsie." To you, these are just the silliest words. And when I say, in my best Woody voice, "There's a snake in my boots," you may even come out of a tantrum, you like it so much.
You're skinny. I'm a little worried the doctor is going to yell at me on Friday at your check up. Sometimes you eat. Sometimes you don't. You will never turn down a slice of turkey (a compromise in our veggie household), raisins, bananas, fruit bars (Target's Archer Farms brand), or Publix chocolate chip cookies. Everything else is hit or miss. One day you're a bread addict. The next day you turn up your nose to it. One day you act like you could eat a whole carton of strawberries. The next day you refuse to acknowledge their existence on your plate. Sometimes when I'm cooking dinner you try and steal every cherry tomato you can get away with. Other times, when such cherry tomatoes are legitimately yours, you decide they are meant for nothing but squishing between your fingers. So. Rotten. But when you want to eat you do and until the doctor tells me otherwise I think you're eating enough, so unlike your big brothers who have to try things or eat certain amounts before they can be done, I just totally follow your lead. Because the few times I've pushed you, you've just thrown up on me. Lesson learned!
You recently survived your first trip to the dentist and, a few months back, your first "professional" haircut. I put you through these new things and you totally exceed my expectations. But this not being potty trained yet thing is holding you back. It's gotta happen for you to get out of the baby room at church and if I'm going to ever sign you up for any type of Mom's Day Out, which, now that you're three, I could possibly do.
No pressure, kid, but Momma's got goals for you this year. Yup, like use the potty. I also hope you'll string more words together and use more verbs and pronouns. And not give up on utensils quite so quickly. You start off your meals with the best intentions, and then midway I'll look over, and see fistful-of-dinner approaching your mouth.
Now that your three, these aren't just MY goals, but they're on paper typed up in your IEP. Totally official. Seriously, where you poop and pee is now of interest to the St. Lucie County School District. Embarrassing? Well, master the skill, and off the list it goes!
I may not use the potty but I can work this fake flower like a nunchuck!
AND a broom!
You are my greatest source of laughter. Sometimes we just lay on the floor and laugh and tickle and do airplane where you're up high on my feet. Before I know it twenty minutes have gone by.
I love watching you "read" to your stuffed animals. I love how you say "Phineas and Ferb." I love how excited you get to watch the garbage truck go around in our neighborhood. There is just so much about you that brings joy to me which is why birthdays are bitter sweet for this old mom. I'm excited to watch you grow, but I'm fearful about what endearing habits you may leave behind.
But, onward we go. For in the words of Dr. Seuss (who's a very popular guy in our house these days), "And will you succeed? Yes! You will, indeed! (98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.) Kid, you'll move mountains!"
I've got a shovel for ya. Lead the way.
Special Birthday Breakfast! Someone was still waking up and little unsure of what to think of all the hoopla.
But considering the contents of the plate, it didn't take much convincing to get Toby to dig in.