Dear Davy

Dear Davy,

There have been moments in this week I have found myself counting the days until you are in preschool. And not in a good way. I might go far enough to say you have been a stinker.

You told me for the first time "I don't like you." ouch. Then you threw Gianna on the floor WWF style. Approximately 147 times. You took all my return labels and stuck them to the kitchen wall. You stuck spoons in all the keyholes in every doorknob in our home. You drew with crayon on the couch. You locked me out of my bedroom and I had to call help to break in through the window. You spilled water on the floor more times than I could possibly count after obliging your need for "big water" to avoid your escalating tantrums. You no longer allow me to call you the name your prince/father and I gave you on the day of your birth and demand to be addressed as Cinderella at all times. You drew with purple crayon all over my bathroom door. the hallway walls. my bedroom walls. and my bedroom mirror.  You walked in the garage, found an old glass jar from the 1940s full of nails, dumped them out in your shopping cart and then threw the glass jar on the ground. You single-handedly emptied every thing in your reach in the living room within 30 minutes of being awake. You ran outside with no pants on. In the rain. You threw my toothbrush on the plunger after climbing on the vanity and using it.

Buuuuut you also drove your purple little tikes car over to me on the drive way and told me "Just driving over to say I love you mom." And you carried my purse in the house today after going to the park. And you patiently sat in your stroller as I chatted it up with a friend on a walk. You made a vacuum hose into your baby and mothered her better than some humans. You took a nap today!
[insert dramatic pause for effect and take a deep cleansing breath]

 
You dressed yourself in some fantastic outfits, mixing animal prints, tie dye, and tutus with ease. You hourly feed Gianna things you pilfer from the fridge, affectionately known to you as baby Snow White. You give her almost anything she wants in your hands. You let me hold you as you almost fell asleep in my arms yesterday. And then opened your eyes slowly and told me that you were "just thinking about your prince." (aka: daddy). You told me you want to be a mom when you grow up. You are three years old and I love your wild spirit and your independence. And I really love your never ending giggles and big heart. You melt mine everyday in between making me crazy. Please stop growing up.

I love you sweet three year old.

Love,

Your mom or as you currently call me "Princess Jasmine"


PS: I think when you sleep, it really helps me remember the good times a little more clearly.