three.

To my sweet Greta Maeve...at three years young.

You are three! When asked how old you are, you make the peace sign and then with a little help from your other hand pull that little ring finger out from under there and smile proudly as you hold it out and exclaim, "Thfree!"

We were in Milwaukee on your actual birthday and went to the zoo (because that is what you requested) and had pizza for dinner with Dada (also your request) and you were in disbelief that we threw you a party with family and friends over the weekend. "No. I already had my party."

When we were at the zoo, you were staring at the fish and I swear, they were staring right back at you.

You have been saying what I have been thinking lately...which kind of freaks me out. I woke up one morning last week or the week before wondering what kind of cupcakes I would make for your party and you looked at me and said, "Can I have my birthday cupcake now, mama?"

You refuse to sleep in your own bed lately and have been sleeping in bed with us. You say you are scared of the dark and scared of your bed. When you do sleep in your bed, you have nightmares and night terrors. It is alarming, to say the least, when you wake up screaming. Oy! How I miss sleep. But I also miss you (when you were a baby) sleeping in bed with us. Perhaps that is why I let you sleep in bed with us...it's so hard. I want to comfort you and make you feel safe, but I also want you to face whatever fears you may have. (and of course there's sleep. I need sleep. I don't get any sleep) But...you are three. So, for now, I'll gently sweep that big curl away from your eyes and lightly touch your round cheek and sing you a song and then watch you sleep like a creep. I know I've probably said this before, but you look like a little cherub angel when you sleep and I could just watch you forever.

You want to make friends with everyone. We were at the park today and you kept saying to me, "Maybe they will be my fwends." as you would run over to a group of kids. You love everyone, Greta. You don't discriminate. It doesn't even matter that the kid was like, 12. You wanted that little girl to be your fwend. And as your mama, I wanted so desperately for all those kids to want to be your fwend right back.

What is about you, Greta? You are something special. Someone unique. I've always felt this. Even while I was pregnant with you. My kind heart. When I get upset and yell at you, you will come over to me and lightly rub my arm and say, "I love you, mama." I tell you that I love you, too, I just wasn't very happy with you at the moment...to which you reply, "It's o-tay to be mad. Just don't yell at me." Schooled on parenting by a three-year-old. Yes. I shouldn't yell. You are so very right, my love. Please forgive me all the times I've yelled and made you feel like I didn't love you. Because my love for you runs deep, Greta. So deep, it hurts, in fact.