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More than a few people have said to me lately: “Right now, the hours and days may pass slowly, but the years will fly by.”
It’s so true. It feels like approximately one millisecond ago that I was blogging about our new baby Charlie. Just yesterday. And yet, yesterday, we celebrated his third birthday.
It’s a day that Charlie’s been anticipating for months now, telling us: “On my ‘cembah (December) buwfday, I’ll be fwee!” And for the past week, he’s been asking: “Is it going to be my weal buwfday?!” (as opposed to his birthday party day).
Our Charlie is three. He’s officially moving out of toddlerhood, setting up camp in “big boy” land. And since Jack’s arrival, he’s handled the fact that he’s no longer the baby in the family like a champ. While I do have to spend my days on “murder watch,” (“Charlie, don’t put that pillow over the baby’s face!” “Charlie, don’t throw rocks near the baby!” “Charlie, don’t pick up the baby!”) it all comes from a place of love and devotion. Charlie is smitten with his little brother. He loves to squeeeeeze him and hold him and smother him with hugs and kisses. He runs into our room at the crack of dawn to say good morning to his baby Jackie (usually waking him up in the process, which makes for a very grumpy mommy). He’s so proud to be a big brother. Like this morning, when Jack spit up on the floor and Charlie ran to get a paper towel, yelling over his shoulder in excitement: “Oh, Mommy, I can wipe that up, because I’m a big bwuddah now!” Or, like this little exchange at breakfast yesterday morning:
Julia: “I feel proud that my little brother is three.”
Charlie: “Heeeeeyyyy! I’m not a little bwuddah, I’m a big bwuddah!”
Despite his enthusiasm for his new big-brother status, we’re also dealing with some inevitable regression on Charlie’s part. When I asked him why he doesn’t want to use the potty, he looked up at me with his huge blue eyes and said, so earnestly: “Mommy, I just want to be a baby still.”
I wish he could be my baby forever. But, he’s becoming such a boy—a running, throwing, crashing, hitting, kicking, tornado of a boy, who is as utterly maddening as he is heartbreakingly sweet.
This morning, he woke up and asked: "Mom, is it still my buwfday?"
When I told him that it wasn't, he was clearly disappointed.
"Am I two again?" he asked, sadly.
"Nope, you're still three," I assured him.
"Yay! I'm going to be three forever!" he yelled happily.
But I know all too well that I'm going to blink and find that he's already four.
Join FitPregnancy.com’s Managing Editor Dana Rousmaniere each week as she blogs about her third pregnancy and new baby.