On Sunday, you turned three years old in the dark of the early morning when your breath came in deep & even. Nothing stirred & the world fell quiet, like that fall morning you were born under lowered lights & whispers & Momma’s tears. Snuggled in beside me, which is your new preferential sleeping arrangement, we woke up together while Daddy made coffee downstairs. I peeked one eye open & you grinned in response & I said “Happy birthday, Hibby” & you burst into tears.
That’s kind of life with you at this point but it’s okay. You’re three & the world sometimes feels too big & too fast.
Sometimes I look at you & you seem magical. You have this wild spirit that is so much like the one that lies deep within me, but unlike your momma, you’re not afraid to be that storm of possibility. I wonder what makes you so brave & genuine & I wish you’ll stay that way forever because it is perfection.
In the evenings you lift up your feet & let your scooter take you headfirst into the garage with peals of laughter & I think of how big you are, how independent you are & how much a little boy you have become. But then when nobody is looking, you curl into my shoulder with a little hand twirling my hair & you’re still my baby. Three, I have come to realize in just a few short hours, is the best of both worlds for mommas & their babes, a world of possibility & a constant reminder of unconditional love.
I love you, I love you, I love you.