Memo to Emmy: 36 Months

Holy Camole Guacamole Emmy!

That's what you like to say when things just blow your mind. And that's what I think about you turning 3 years old today. You are a beacon of happiness and light in our lives. You're growing like a turnip. If a turnip were a fast growing, talkative, questioning, twirling, sweet dervish of a vegetable child.

So many milestones in the last two months: you moved into a new room in a new house, became a big sister, and started preschool.

Oh, and you also got three staples put into and taken out of your head because I, The World's Worst Mommy, was getting you into the big new shiny shower and I, The World's Worst Mommy, allowed you to slip and fall backwards. Never have we heard you say, "But I just want to go to bed," until that night when Daddy had to take you to the ER.

You were so brave and so strong and you soldiered right through it. I cried harder than you did. How I wish I could've taken those staples right in the eyeball instead. But, just like everything else, you weathered the whole thing like a champ, and your staples came out clean. Thank you ER physician's assistant.

I hope that if you ever decide to shave your head, you will think that inch long scar is evidence of your street cred. Or you can just tell everyone how you managed to grow up despite being raised by The World's Worst Mommy. I'm working on getting that trademarked. Because I need some sort of mega millions idea so that I leave you a giant empire to make up for being The World's Worst Mommy. But first I better get that estate plan drawn up.

Talk about a model big sister. Now that you've amassed no fewer than 4 different "Big Sis" T-shirts, you've taken on your new role with gusto. And by that I mean, you are not jealous of Dessy at all, but you also mostly ignore her unless she's crying, at which time you will often say, "Maybe it's her diaper!" You are very helpful with retrieving wipes, diapers, Kleenex, anything within your line of sight that we request. You will kiss Dessy or wish her good night or do anything we ask for your little sis, but you're otherwise content to walk by and simply observe that "She's awake, Mommy, she's awake!" Introducing this new babycake has not messed with your mojo one bit. You are as sweet as ever. It's like Dessy is a new chihuahua in the house, cute, but irrelevant to your well being. I am totally OK with that Emmy. I know things will be very different in a few years so I will savor this period of sweetness bordering on indifference.

White Grandma, Daddy and I all separately came up with this adjective to describe you: stoic. You're the Joan of Arc of 3 year olds. Nothing fazes you and you take every transition and head wound in stride. I don't know where you get it but you are such a baller. I want to be on your team when you grow up. 

One of my favorite parts of you going to preschool is coming early to pick you up. While the veteran moms and dads chit chat, I spy through the window to see you interact with your teachers and classmates. You love to pipe up during reading time and you're never too far from a teacher during the pilgrimage from the playground back to class. But it's super cute when we see you go up to another kid and ask the questions Daddy suggested. Emmy: "What's your name?" Kid: *mumbles her name* Emmy: "What's your favorite color?" Kid: "Blue." Followed by: Silence from Emmy and Kid. Conversation: Over.

It took 5 classes before you came home and announced, "I didn't cry today!" But it's still a delicate balance for you. The teachers say you are very good at "gathering yourself" after an emotional moment. Sometimes something happens during that 2 and a half hours at school that still prompts some tears. Like when you were practicing for the big singing event with your class. There's a part of the song that goes, "The daddies on the bus say 'I love you, I love you, I love you.'" Well, that reminded you of your favorite person in the whole world, and you burst into tears. When the school director told me that, I almost burst into tears. You and your Papa Bear have such a special bond and I know he will never let you down. 

Funny enough, that reminds me of what you love to say right now when you don't know what to say. You say, "I love you." It's like your little placeholder for when you don't have the answer or we ask you something and you're unsure how to respond. You say, "I love you. I...love you! But. I love you." It's another Emmyism that your dad and I have incorporated into our vernacular. So when I've accidentally misplaced Daddy's phone and he's trying to go to work and he can't find it and asks me where it is, I say, "But. I...love you." 

You are getting really good at counting past 20 into the 30's and 40's and 50's, but when you really want to express huge quantities of things, you say, "Is it 2 hundred T-Rex million?" Because T-Rex units are obviously a LOT. 

So Emmy, Happy 3rd Birthday.

We love you 68 zillion T-Rex hundred thousand billions.

Papa Bear and Mama Bear