Jack turned three yesterday. I've been calling him the two-year-old, but in the next year, he will be known as the Threester (also known as the 3ster). I tried to write a blog post yesterday, but I couldn't. Everything sounded so canned, so generic. Of course I'm madly in love with him. Of course he makes me smile every day. I've talked about he's a blast to take places because he makes everyone happy.
And then, suddenly, I realized why I couldn't do it. Because I don't to capture those thoughts. I want to capture him. I want to put these things in a bottle and open them when he's grown and I miss his chubby thighs and perfectly loving little hands:
I want to remember how he speaks. How he can't say L's. So "I will" = "I wiw." And "I love you" sounds like "I wuv you." And I want to remember how, when he's moved by sentiment, he says, "I like you, Mommy." (Which, in my opinion, is harder than loving me some days.) I want to remember that he calls Matthew, Maffew. And when we leave him at preschool, Jack tells me (every time, without fail), I'm gonna miss Maffew, Mommy." I want to capture that he says, "but..." at the beginning of so many of his thoughts.
I want to remember that he adores his Auntie Laura. And when he's remembering last year when we went to the zoo, he says to me, "Remember when Auntie Wora took me to the jungle (which actually sounds like jungo)? That was so fun. I had so much fun there."
And I want to capture the feel of his little arms tight around my neck. I want to remember how at bedtime, if I forget, he comes out of his room to request "a hug and a kiss and a pound and a five."
And how, at three years old, he can put away more food than most ten-year-olds. How he's partial to hot dogs, hot or cold. And how it's making his Poppa so crazy, that he's going to find a lock for the fridge.
I want to remember how, when he wakes up in the night (usually because he's sure there are spiders in his bed) and Cory's at work, and I let him crawl into bed with me, he wears that sleepy, satisfied little smile. And he snuggles into his Poppa's spot and looks like he feels so safe and loved. So I kiss his little cheeks and he grins, without opening his eyes, because he knows that I love him...and he knows I got played.
That is what I want to capture. And I hope and I pray that when I look back on this many years from now, I'll remember these things vividly. Because this child has a personality worth remembering.
I love you, Jack. I thank God every day that He made me your momma.