Dear Foster,
Last week you turned three years old.
Wait. Forget last week! I haven't written you in a few months because I was hoping to write about other mommy related things when BAM! I got pregnant. And sick.
It wasn't a surprise, really, it just happened right when your daddy and I thought we'd be okay with having a second child.
Selfishly, I was hoping it would take a few months. A few months that I could indulge in you before you turned a whopping THREE YEARS OLD. Kissing the crook of your neck. Your head resting in the crook of mine. Running my fingers through your wild hair. Kissing your chubby cheeks.
Already you don't want to cuddle. Or be carried down the stairs. Or give me a hug and kiss goodbye when I drop you off at school.
Those are natural rites of passage, I know, but you are my first born. My first love (not counting your daddy, of course). My first glimpse of how deep the Father's love is for us. And I was just hoping our uninterrupted time together would last a little longer.
I love being your mommy and the time when it's just the two of us. Talking. Rocking. Reading. Walking.
A few weeks ago we found out the baby I'm carrying is a GIRL! Just like you said.
I cannot tell you how thrilled I am about that! As my dad (your Papa) said, I'm going to have a little buddy.
You used to be my buddy, then you grew up and became a "big boy" (your words, not mine). And now it's all about daddy.
I know the tide will turn, yet again, especially once Baby Girl is here, but for now I'm enjoying the freedom and spending my time dreaming about frilly dresses, pink lace, and pig tails. Sugar and spice and everything nice.
As always, your speech and language continues to be your strength and these past few months have been ripe with funny Foster-isms.
Like this one:
Foster: Daddy, is today Sunday school?
Daddy: No, today is Tuesday. Which day is SUNDAY school?
Foster: WITCH day is not Sunday school! Why you say WITCH day?
Or, this one:
Foster: Mommy, did God make spiders?
Mommy: Yes, I think so.
Foster: I bet he wore gloves.
Or, this one:
Foster: Mommy, look! This stick is beautiful!
Mommy: Yes, it is beautiful and you're beautiful too!
Foster: No, I not beautiful. Daddy is beautiful.
Mommy: Yes, Daddy is beautiful. Am I beautiful?
Foster: No.
Gee thanks, kid.
Your favorite play activity is pretending with your friends (i.e., stuffed animals). Your best friend is Bear-Bear, of course. Then Kitty-Cat (the only girl of the bunch). Then Lamb. After those three, it's a toss up. Depends on your mood, I guess.
Your daddy was out of town for a week over your birthday, but when he returned he brought you back a new friend, a penguin. You named him Happy Feet.
Tomorrow we celebrate your birthday (a week late) with local family members. This has been our tradition every year so far and will continue to be until you care otherwise. I don't think you mind, though. I mean, all of your friends are already here!
Your cake has a train on it. Very fitting because you love trains and are so proud of yourself that you can now say, TR-ain. It used to be CR-ane, and sometimes when you said it I wouldn't be sure if you were talking about a crane or a train.
"No! CRANE!", you'd yell.
"Oh, TR-ain. Oh, okay. I see it now." This usually happened when you were in the back seat.
Then one day, you were talking about a train and just to make sure I got it, you enunciated the T-R. "Not, CR-ane, Mommy."
Noted.
You are a big boy now. Potty training (sort of). Brushing your teeth (sometimes). Brushing your hair (not very well). Pulling your pants up. Pushing them down. Putting rain boots on..."Mommy, are dees on da right feet?"
I have loved every minute of these past three years. (Notice I didn't say every second!) And I am going to miss this time, just the two of us.
I will never be able to give Baby Girl what I've given you and I hope you know just how special you are.
Love and tears,
Mama
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