Sometimes you run past me and I am just like "That is a seriously cool little dude that is running around my house. Wonder how he got here." Three years on and I still haven't really 'registered' that I am a mother and that you are my son. It's never felt like that with you. It's always felt like we are old friends, teaching each other little things about life.
I am so in love with you Noah. You are just the sweetest, kindest little boy that I have ever met. Your sense of humour is contagious. You are just adorable, good natured and you have such a good heart. You are so gullible and trusting. So eager to please. Inquisitive. Curious.
On Sunday you turn three and I just want to cry. You've changed here, since having more friends, and going to a bigger school. You seem more independent, more confident. You don't need mommy "as much" as before. I'm enjoying our little bonding times, I treasure them now -more than ever. Your babyhood is ending one birthday at a time, and I wish them away. I don't want you to grow up, not now -not ever.
Last night we were playing on my bed, and there was this loud engine-like noise outside. You flashed your big wide-eyed, questioning face at me, and I scooped you in to my arms and told you that it was an aeroplane. I said that we must be careful because it could fall on the house, see? You smiled and liked that idea. Under the covers we went; screaming every time we heard a noise because the "aeroplane is coming back to get us". You made little gestures with your hands and acted out the plane falling on the house, and the house going BOOM and Noah running away. It was just us, playing like that for ages. You were laughing your loudest laugh. After a while you pulled my hand toward you, turned around and mumbled "Mommy hold me" and I did. And you slept.
Turn three you must. I'm sorry that I can't be happier for you.
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