Three
3 is no longer calling peanut butter “bunga”, but it’s still saying “him” and “her” instead of “he” and “she”. 3 is belting out the parts of the songs you know regardless of where you are because who wouldn’t want to be serenaded with Moana or The Wheels on the Bus?
3 is no longer crying through a haircut, but still needing mom close enough to cling to when the clippers come out. 3 is suddenly talking to and playing with other people in the world instead of just awkwardly staring at them.
3 is demanding a knife at dinner so you can cut your own food while holding said knife upside down. 3 is declaring the foods you like “good for me”, the ones you don’t like “not good for me”, and occasionally mixing it up with “it’s tasty/not tasty for me.”
3 is throwing your stuffed animals to the ground and then very concernedly asking, “Oh no what happened? You got a boo boo?” 3 is ordering someone to dramatically fake cry and then laughing hysterically while demanding, “Again!”
3 is filled with “I do it!” like choosing your own pajamas, (kind of) putting toothpaste on your toothbrush, and turning off your tablet. 3 is also filled with “I need some help” like getting into your chair at the table, opening the bag of crayons, and turning on your tablet.
3 is mastering the bedtime stall, a PAW Patrol obsession, and endless requests to go shopping. 3 is wanting to live in your pajamas, singing Happy Birthday to yourself, and starting weekends with, “We’re gonna have fun today? Where are we going?”
3 is so big. 3 is so little. 3 is pretty much perfect.
Soybeans, Too 