Happy Third Birthday, Owen!

Dear sweet Owen,

I’m approaching the end of your birthday month, and as a resolution this year, I promised myself I’d be sure to get your birthday letter written and posted before we see February. I’m dangerously close, but I’ve made it by a thread. Thank you for forgiving your mama (in 15 years or so, when you read this).

 

You are three now. Shiny, bright, loud, three. Your three has graced us with a new and exciting you, one of passion and energy that far surpasses anything we’ve seen this far. You are emotionally headstrong, quick to resort to your gut reaction rather than choose to use the many, many, many, words you’ve stored inside your adorable head.

I can’t say that I didn’t see it coming though. I imagined one of my children would take on the same quick-temper and stubbornness that I have ingrained in my being. Some days you entirely reflect me like a little mirror. I might have a bit more regulation and can control my emotions a tiny bit better, but they are there nonetheless, and every bit as intense and whirl-windy as yours. We are kindred spirits in that way, and when you share your expressions of joy and excitement, I too can feel and understand the power behind those emotions, just the same as when you are intensely mad or wronged, I can feel within my heart the emotional tool you encounter.

 

You are teaching me new things about how to be a good parent everyday. About reminding me not to compare you to any other three year olds, and seeing you for who you are and not for the social expectations that come with “preschool age”. You’ve taught me to reason with you less and hold you in my lap more, to calm your worries with hugs and cuddles and let go of negative behaviors a few moments after they happen, because you certainly do, and can’t recall what on earth I’ve gotten so mad about when I hang on to them.

You’ve taught me to treasure your creativity. Because your brother wasn’t really interested in art or play dough or anything of that sort and you show an interest in it, its been a new experience to watch you take joy in coloring and painting. And maybe even in your teaching him to enjoy it too. You’ve taught me to pay better attention to all of the Thomas the train characters and track designs so that I might be able to sufficiently play along and that there is an enormous difference between a skid steer and a bulldozer.

You’ve taught me exactly what it would be like to raise a boy in New Jersey, as you haven’t quite mastered the “r” sound and some blends. Sometimes we have you say “park the car” for fun to have a quick dose of the east coast. It so adorable right now, and I know before long you’ll grow out of it. Your words are getting clearer everyday and you are becoming more proficient in your everyday conversations.

You’ve taught me what unbridled happiness looks like, with an infectious smile and deep, open, blue eyes, that nearly all of your teachers talk about. “He’s always so happy!” they say. You don’t hold anything back in your affection, giving deep big hugs all day long to anyone you admire. We all love this immensely too, but especially your teachers, they can’t get enough of your hugs. You are compassionate and caring, loving and genuine.

At least once a day now you spontaneously say,  in a random sort of way, “momma I love you.” I love this about you (and your brother) because it confirms for  me that you know that you are loved. That our modeling of reminding you of what a joy you are to our lives through the phrase “ I love you” had made a significant impact on your lives.

You’ve helped me to notice your independence, when admittedly, I hang on to the baby in you. Because you are currently the youngest, there is no baby behind you to hold an coddle, and so I pick you up all too often, zip up your coat, help you scoop up your food. Sigh. I’m an enabler. But lately, you’ve reminded me that you are growing up. You now ask to hold my hand on the stairs instead of being carried. You insist on doing things your way and managing yourself when getting dressed, or going potty, or putting on your coat. They are proud moments to see you push away, but also a little bit bittersweet.

 

This year you have impressed us with so much, you are bright and cheery, empathetic and loving, stubborn and passionate, all poured into the little package that is you. You love trains and magna-tiles, books and puzzles. You still will try most foods at least once, and have an affinity for spicy things. Just the other day I found you walking around with a small bottle of green Tabasco saying you needed it on your dinner.

You’ve been potty trained and now sleep through the night in underwear- another moment of individual accomplishment. I remember the night you asked if you could and I thought, really? But you were indeed ready. You’ve learned to rhyme and identify letter sounds, you have the fine motor skills of a 6 year old and are soooo anxious to start reading lessons (to be like your brother I think, and maybe to get the one on one time with mama too). This week we started on letter identification and we’ll build up to those reading lessons, I promise.

You are still fearlessly adventurous. Heading into the deep end of the pool on a noodle, by yourself. Submerging your head and wanting, desperately to play every organized sport that your brother did, but at that time were too young to be included in.  You jump off things you shouldn’t, climb things that are too high and challenge every protective bone in my body. All with a big smile plastered across your face.

This year, I imagine, so many of your little 3 year old dreams will come true. You’ll learn to swim (starting in two weeks!), you’ll play tee ball, you’ll even get to ice skate lessons if you still want to when we wind back around to that season. You’ll sleep in the tent when camping on your own (and not find your way into your dad’s sleeping bag), you’ll start preschool, and you’ll make new friends, learn new words and try new adventures.

 

I cannot imagine our life without your glow, your happiness and sweet smile. The warm, deep hugs you provide everyday and the joy that your bring to our lives. I cannot imagine not seeing your passionate fire shine through in your persistence, your fierce loyalty to your goals and your intense need to make things in this world right in your eyes (even if that means knocking down someone else’s tower).  I cannot imagine a world that does not include what you bring to our family, your growth and curiosity, the unique and wonderful ways you are exactly yourself. I cannot imagine missing the piece of my heart that is completely and entirely yours.

And so, because I am unable to reason a world without you, I choose to instead simply enjoy the precious joy you are in our lives and hold tight to you being little for as long as possible so that I can savor all of the amazing things about you.

You are my bear hugger, my comic relief, my Mr. New Jersey, my fiery-tempered toddler, my feeling-sharer, my quick forgetter, my couch cuddler, my good eater, my errand companion, my construction conisuer, my train aficionado, my genuine-one-of-a-kind Owen. And we would’t have it any other way.

So this year, we celebrate another year passed. Three wonderful years of your excitement and we look forward to the joys that are in our future, and to all the ways you teach us to be better parents and a better family as we try to help mold you into the bright and beautiful adult human being we see glimmering in the corner of your eye.

To 100 more birthdays, my sweet boy.

All our love,

Momma and daddy