I never imagined myself as a mother of a 3 year old. I think I was too immature to look beyond the terrible 2s- of which we barely survived.
So now we have a threenager. And he is owning it.
I mean, building autonomy has to be the single hardest thing for a child to do. He wants to put on his clothes, get his own drink from the sink, put on his own seatbelt; which would all be great, if he could easily execute these plans. However, I stand by and nervously fidget while he grunts away at his arm getting stuck in the wrong hole, falls off the stool, and snaps his fingers in the seatbelt.
I love him. Someone tell him to stay a little boy for forever.
You know, no 3 year old is complete without at least 3 birthday celebrations. I only documented 2. Something he might bring up with his therapist when he hits his 30th birthday.