Today, my baby turned three. With all the fanfare and over indulgence fitting such an age, he turned three. Three. THREE. Whew. I said it. It feels like we have crawled here and, simultaneously, taken a bullet train. When M was first born, I remember someone saying that the first six months creep by and the first six years fly. I have visions of my boy at eighteen and can already feel time moving too quickly.
It is amazing to look back at all it took to create M. Deciding who would carry him. Choosing his donor. Losing the first pregnancy so that M could come to us. And now, here we are. Together we have made it to three.
He is funny as hell, which I am counting on to help us all survive this next year of his life. It seems that most toddlers have some sort of rapid-cycling emotional disorder. One minute he will be laughing and having a great time and the next he is hiding his face under that table because the waitress tried to sing him Happy Birthday. Over the next year, I will probably write a lot about this disparity. I will also write a lot about the funny things he says. Mainly because funny things are more…fun.
Tonight, on his first day of three, I bring to you installment one:
The M Chronicles
“Mama? On the weekend, can we call Lady Gaga and see if she wants to come over to play? I think she would be really nice to me.”
“Uh…I don’t think she would be able to, Buddy.”
“Well, could we call her and see if I can go to her house?”
“We can’t really call her, Buddy.”
“Well…we don’t know her.”
“I’m disappointed. I really wanted to hang out with her.”
If any of you know Lady Gaga and can get her the message, I’d appreciate it.