Happy three my guy!
I write this drinking wine to toast the eve of your birth (or just because actually I like wine and drink it most nights) surveying the mountain of plastic crap I am putting off wrapping. You need none of it but you’ll love all of it – and we really, really need a bigger house.
And so you go from toddler to little boy. You’ve shot up this year, your chubby cheeks have narrowed out, personality is appearing by the bucket load and words keep tumbling from your mouth with increasing complexity – and immaturity.
Everything is ‘poo’ including me, you have taken to calling me ‘Mummy poo’ which is err… endearing?! One of your favourite things to do is to take a song and change one of the words in it to fecal matter…
‘Let it poooo, let it poooooooo, can’t hold it back anymooooore!’
I shouldn’t laugh but it’s hard not to when you get it so right. I also shouldn’t laugh when you parp whilst sitting on my lap and say ‘Mummy I did a fart on you!’ and giggle. This is life with a house full of boys and I love it.
In the last few months we’ve said goodbye to nappies, the buggy is a dying trend and you stand tall next to your big bro, crossing swords for your standing up wees. Everything is happening so much faster this time around because you have a five year old idol to look up to.
There are certain elements of your grown-upness I’m a little reluctant to embrace, Cbeebies doesn’t really get a look in so you are already into Batman and Star Wars and know words like ‘die‘ and ‘gun.’ When you come at me with with a spoon and shout ‘I kill you Mummy!’ I can’t help but thinking It might be better if you were obsessed with Postman Pat like your brother was at your age (and I really, really don’t like that absolute cretin of a postman).
But there are many ways that you are so very different to him too. Whilst he’s Mr. Outdoorsy you’re my little homebody, not caring much for the winter cold. That’s ok with me, cuddles on the sofa whilst watching Kung-Fu Panda beats hours braving the park any day.
At three you are making friends and learning to put your own clothes on. You like eating piles of broccoli but hate chips (strange child). You love toddler groups, loading the washing machine and pulling the dishwasher trays in and out so you can see how the rollers work (a future mechanic?). Your disgusting stinky sheep comforter rarely leaves your side and you repeatedly ask me to attach my handbag strap to the label in your jumper so you can pretend to be a dog!
You don’t like milk on your cereal, messy hands, eating on something that’s not your yellow plate or bowl, sandwiches, getting taken out of the bath and just generally having to go to bed. Ever. I still have to sit with you in the dark, my hand across your body, waiting for you to go to sleep you cheeky bugger!
But I don’t really mind because I love you.
I love the way you continue to mispronounce words that I just can’t bring myself to correct – bthuses (buses), morging (morning) and ‘luths you’ (love you) all sound like better versions to me.
I love the way you have the confidence to go up to teenagers in the park tell them your name, offer them a bread stick and talk about how fast you can go on your scooter.
I love the way you can say ‘Awright darlin?’ in the best cockney accent I have ever heard.
I love your superhero poses, your ninja moves and the relationship you are finally starting to develop with your brother (apart from when you smash up his carefully constructed lego creations in a crazy rage about something totally insignificant).
I love the fusty way you smell, a bit like wee and cabbages, which sounds kind of gross but it’s not – because it’s you.
I even love the way you invade our bed at 3am every night. Your body is just the right size, small enough to play a super snuggly little spoon yet robust enough to elbow us in the face if we squish you.
A few months back we lost you at a country fayre. I turned my back for mere seconds and you were gone. It’s not unusual for you to bolt but I’ve always found you a minute or two later. This time it was 20 minutes, It felt like a lifetime and my mind went to very dark places. Eventually you were found. You’d left the fayre, walked down the road and were at the entrance of the car park.
‘I bet he was glad to see you!’ everybody said. No. You didn’t give a rats arse did you my super chatty confident little man? I ran down to get you and saw you laughing with the security guys, not a care in the world! Never ever scare me like that again because we could not live without the ragey, loveable, irritating, cuddly, stinky little ball of you.
We like you a lot. We like everything. Bad bits and all, we’ll keep you just the way you are.
P.S. My new book is out NOW. It is very stupid and makes a very lovely Christmas present for people (unless they don't like terrible drawings or the word fuck). You can buy it on Amazon (CURRENTLY 67% OFF) here or in all good bookshops and supermarkets :)