Yesterday, my darling girl turned three. Three. I need to let that sink in for a moment.
Theoretically we’ve survived the “terrible twos,” although I suspect three has its fair share of surprises in store. As the Iron Will of Ellie gets stronger, our political maneuverings get more intense. We’re still in negotiations over hair-brushing, “dinner” is a nightly trial (grapes and cheese qualify as a complete meal, didn’t you know?) and we’re considering changing her middle name to Bossypants.
Elspeth Bossypants Moore. She’s named after me.
Don’t get me wrong; there are upsides to three, too. Highlights include the ability to entertain herself for longer stretches, a few more inches’ slack on the proverbial parental leash and the pleasure of spending our time with one of the most funny, spirited, articulate kids I’ve ever met. Not that I’m biased or anything.
The big bonus: In recent days, Ellie has decided the potty is no longer for suckers.
Happy birthday to us!
The caveat: Potty-training does not happen overnight (at least, not in this house) and this is just the beginning of what I’m fairly certain will be a long, messy road. I’m getting pretty friendly with the mop and the washing machine. But hey, whatever it takes to have only one kid in diapers! It’s a big step in the right direction.
Happy birthday, Ellie. May your days be filled with laughter, love, joy… and the occasional puddle.