His Rollieness

Three years ago today, Rollie, you came into my life. It was 5:30 on a Wednesday afternoon. Looking back, I'm glad I didn't immediately realize that your lack of crying wasn't a good thing. The doctors whisked you off to the nursery to keep an eye on you and everything happened so quickly. Three years later, if you were so near to death, nothing could have kept me calm or kept me from your side. But in those first few hours, I didn't know yet that your being in my life would become my life so fully.

So much has happened in the last year. The transition from two-year old to three-year old is drastic. On your last birthday you were still a baby, and on this one, you are a boy. In the last year, you have started running and playing and jumping like a boy. You have kicking a ball down, and are grasping the pedaling concept. Your play is imaginative and magical. You startle me with the connections you make between seemingly unlike objects - the shadow cast on the wall by a lamp is a Thomas the Tank Engine. To you, a globe is just a ball; so is a scoop of ice cream.

This year, you became a big brother. I am so happy with the way that you have weathered a new sibling. Matilda can be a pest, no matter how much she is bothering you out of adoration, and you usually take it with a sense of humor and with gentleness. Sure, there have been some incidents of you sitting on her until she turned blue, but those have been few and far between.

You bestow us with verbal gifts of love, sprinkled with liberal hugs and kisses. We share Eskimo and butterfly kisses at bedtime. Since Matilda has graced us with her presence, you and Daddy have only strengthened your friendship. My heart swells to bursting sometimes, watching the two of you at bedtime, wrestling and laughing, or watching you attempt to follow in his footsteps. He puts you down to bed more often than not, and I smile to myself as I feed and put Matilda down, listening to your whispers and giggles as you read bedtime stories. Your favorite this year, far and away, is Shel Silverstein's "The Giving Tree." You call it "apple book" and pretend to eat the apples right off the page. Other favorite books include "The Country Mouse and The City Mouse," "The Three Bears," "Sleepytime Bunny," "Green Eggs and Ham," and "Hop on Pop." You pretty much destroyed your copy of "Goodnight Moon," but Matilda received a copy. Sometimes we read that, but more often, I just recite it to you from memory. With a little prompting, you will even finish my sentences for me. We still say goodnight to everything in creation, and you always end it with "doggy and the cat."

Your speech is astounding. You have gone from one and two word phrases to complete, complex, multi-part sentences. You speak with feeling and animation. You grasp meanings. Daily, you wow me with some new word that you have picked up, and it is often something I never even say. Sometimes, it is something i have said. Why is it that "crap" seems so innocuous until it is uttered by a three-year old? Hopefully, you will not say it again until you reach adulthood, but you have even uttered your own version of the F word, echoing my reaction at a particularly harrowing near-miss in the car. Having you in my life is like a constant litmus test for my behavior, a mirror held up to my speech, attitude, and outward self. It scares me to see myself in you so often, and to know that I wield such power to shape you into the person you will be. It seems so elementary, but watching you achieve these things is like watching a flower bloom; it seems so small and it happens every day, in such small steps, but the magnificence of it is there, if I just take the time to watch.

Baby, I am proud of the little boy you are becoming. You have your moments of selfishness, your problems with sharing, your inability to hear reason, but all in all, I am amazed at your thoughtfulness, the way you have learned so much about courtesy and respect. I like to think that your father and I are partially responsible for teaching you these life lessons, but there is a little part of me that knows it is also a huge part of the person you are.

I am awed by your insatiable curiosity about your world, and in a million years, i never imagined one little boy could ask so many questions, and so many relevant questions at that. Sometimes I think that if I have to answer another question, i will start beating my head against a wall and not stop until blood runs out of my ears. Then you will ask a question so smart, or funny that I will bust out laughing, and you will start laughing with me, and I realize that this . . .this . . . is what life is all about. Thank you for teaching me what it is to be a better person, less selfish, and someone who stops to think about and ask the questions that matter.

This morning, as your father and I were getting ready for your party, you climbed up on the couch with Grandma ("Ammaw"). You sat down next to her, and you put your hand on her arm, and you said, "I love you, Grandma." She was bewitched; You could have committed murder on her watch and gotten away with it after that.

But we are all bewitched by you - your joy, and humor, and loving nature. Your Rollieness.

I love you,
Mama

p.s. Now that I've buttered you up a little, are you ready to start pooping on the potty yet?