Dear Avery,
You’re three! Daddy reminded me yesterday (four days after your birthday), that I forgot to write a letter to you. This is what it means to be a third child. You give me more material than any of my other children ever could, but sometimes it feels like there aren’t enough hours in the day to do everything I’d like to do.
Also, I have no words to sum up your third year of life. It certainly wasn’t boring. You have an amazing ability of going from being my absolute favorite person to be around, to my worst nightmare. You’re spunky and sweet and you love me and want me and need me. You love my hair maybe as much as me, and one of my favorite things is to nap with you. You rub my hair and it puts both of us to sleep. I tell you often that you’re my best friend. Sometimes you smile and give me a hug, but usually you’ll just respond, “No! My best friend is Susie Sheep!” Its hard to beat a Peppa Pig character in the popularity department.
Your little brain is always churning and you keep me amused with your questions and observations about the world. Oftentimes, when you can tell I’m upset, you ask me matter-of-factly, “Mommy, are you mad or just frustwated?” Usually, the honest answer is yes, I’m mad and “frustwated” with you, but the question alone is generally enough to diffuse some anger.
Your drama level can go from 0-10 in a New York minute. I’ll give you real life example of why (among other reasons), you’ll be our third and final child. Sunday, we were getting ready to load up and go out to lunch. You asked daddy for some pretzels. Cue the fit. By the time I reached you, your drama level was around 8. In retrospect, just give the girl a pretzel. But I’m as stubborn as you are so no, you’re not getting pretzels just because you’re throwing a fit. Into your car seat you go, and now you’re screaming for your paci, which we normally don’t allow in the car. In retrospect, just give the girl her paci. But I’m as stubborn as you are so no, you’re not getting your paci because you’re throwing a fit. Your next move was predictable as you started gagging. Drama level cranked up to a 9.5. My hand was ready to catch the vomit that came next. A perfect handful! “Avery, you almost made me choke!” Jackson said as he sat buckled next to her. My warning bells should have gone off, but I was mad and puked on. I gave you a towel and I went inside to wash my hands (screaming continued). By the time I made it back to the car, two of my kids are covered in puke, you and Jackson. Much more than a mere handful (now I'm describing the vomit and you). Your poor brother was so grossed out by your vomiting that he puked himself. Drama level peaked at 10. All for a pretzel.
It’s fitting really, that Jackson puked after watching you puke, because your brother is one of the kindest, most empathetic souls. He earns “coconuts” at school for good behavior and after 10 coconuts, he gets to pick something out of the treasure box. Last week, he brought you home purple playdoh and yesterday, he brought you home a rainbow pouch. Then wrapped it up with a note because you were still napping. Your brothers love you so much. They were so excited for you to wake up the in your room the morning of your birthday and find a new dollhouse set up.
Of course, we can’t talk about the year without mentioning your medical adventures. We’ve certainly seen our share of dentists, doctors, and ophthalmologists. A knocked out tooth, busted lip, stapled head, bespectacled face…these are some things you have to show of your eventful year. But I love that little girl with purple glasses and a crooked smile, so much that some days it hurts. This year, I have a renewed appreciation of each day I’m gifted to spend with you. I tell you and your brothers often and I believe it deeply, I am so very lucky to be your mom.
Love,
Mom
