Dear Champ,
You push her hand away as she tries to help you up the slide.
"I CAN DO IT!"
Your sister barely remembers life without you.
I think about this as I watch you play together in the water.
You are six months younger than she was three years ago Saturday.
She seemed so much bigger then than you are now.
Strange how I size you in measures of her, though you two are distinct in almost every way.
Except in terms of Three.
That year comes in like a lion: angry and loud, with a fearful roar. I started telling people you were three months ago ... and then correcting myself ... "Ah, he's nearly three."
I can't lie and say it doesn't matter; the storm cloud stares and the "I frink I hate yous."
These are the best years, or so I'm told. "Cherish them."
Adolescents is biding its time. Soon it will be here with its need for freedom, fair-weather friends and car keys.
There I go, getting ahead of you again. Ticking up your age.
Thankfully, you are a stickler for precision: You are not a baby, or a big boy, or my Buddy. You are just a little boy who, for the moment, still needs help on the way down the slide.
Love and catches,
Mommy
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