Month Forty-three

Dear Henry,

Yep, this letter is late. I feel the appropriate level of shame, I assure you. We have entered yet another interesting, at times immensely aggravating, phase I like to call 'being three'. You are more demanding, more sure of your wants and needs - Or not sure, we can't really tell. When we ask you if you're sure about something, you always answer no. But the answer and the way in which it is given certainly implies you are sure so, um, we're in a near-constant state of befuddlement here at the condo - and more insistent on being independent than you have ever been before. This comes, however, with periods when you are far more clingy and more in need of a sympathetic ear than ever before. It is a lot of extremes, my young friend. I guess that just makes the whole parenting gig more fun than if you were just some lame kid who listened all the time and never challenged us. (Oh, sweet Mary, mother of Jesus, how I wish for that kind of kid just once in awhile or a kid who slept without a fuss at bedtime, I'll take either one.)

On the semi-annoying front, there is the continued battle with swimming. Some parents at this point might have convinced themselves it was best to put off swimming lessons. Not this mama! I can't bring myself to pull you out of swimming lessons because once you are in the pool, you always (ALWAYS!) have fun. And you're learning. I know you're learning as whenever you're in the bathtub, you're always calling me in to watch you do this or that or the other. But getting you into the pool is sometimes the most difficult part of my day, right up there with getting you to put your shoes on and getting you to pull your own pants up after you go to the bathroom to do your business. To be fair, though, we have to cinch your waist so tightly to get your pants to stay up, it's difficult to get them up and over your tiny behind.

Your memory is razor sharp. SHARP. Sha - arp. Did I mention it was sharp? For Easter, I picked up a little card for you and wrote a little something inside and you memorized the letter verbatim minus one little hiccup after only hearing it a few times. You like to win, which means you know about winning and losing, and you know you hate to lose and I now know that losing makes you very whiny and upset. My favorite is when we're racing to get somewhere and you'll tell me I can't run. If I can't run, how am I supposed to beat you, Bean? Speaking of running, you now have what I refer to as the increased velocity mode, which basically means you can kick it into high gear and totally smoke me.

We planted our "garden" (also known as two big pots and one little one) and you helped with gusto as soon as you got your gardens mittens on so your hands wouldn't get too dirty. We have tomatoes and basil in pots on the patio and you are very helpful when it comes to watering them. You were very excited to see the first bit of green from the basil seeds breaking through the top of the soil. A summer of insalata caprese is on the way. Too bad you don't really like tomatoes. Maybe you'll be more forgiving of their acidic taste when they are something you grew.

For Easter, we celebrated with Cousin Mia and Uncle Nick, going to their house for a fantastic brunch. Thanks to them (and your Aunt Megan) you have the coolest Spiderman puzzle ever made! Then we headed up to Sandy and Dick's for another feast of holiday food. You participated in your first real Easter egg hunt - both at the condo and at S and D's later in the day - but I'm pretty sure the highlight of the day for you was the trampoline. You love the trampoline. There were a couple of older kids on it in the beginning and that meant there were a few falls and jolts that were unexpected and a little painful but when you were on there by yourself and with the smaller kids, you had a blast! Jumping, jumping, jumping! It's now in your repertoire of potentially dangerous things you like to do and I don't think it'll be going away any time soon.

You like to cuddle, you think every rock, leaf, twig, blade of grass, flower, leaf, twig, and rock is some sort of sea creature. And you went to bring them all into the condo to live. You braved the Pacific Ocean in May on a day that wasn't particularly all that warm, in your underwear. (You have that kind of crazy confidence.) You lug the cats around all the time, ignoring their pleas to be released, and yet you seem surprised when they eventually take a cautionary swipe at you. You still have your own jar of peanut butter. You jump off the counter in the bathroom, you've learned how to rinse AND spit, a huge improvement from the rinse, swallow, drool a bit on your shirt method you employed in your younger months. You connect words - like O is connected to K and spells OK or tug is connected to boat and spells tugboat. You're loud and adventurous and charming and sweet and shy and fast, and all that I can say is that parenting, for all its ups and downs, is one heckuva magical gig, thanks to you, Bean.

Love,
Mama