The Power of Three

When my son turned one it didn’t seem to faze me. I was fairly excited that we had made it to this milestone, because he shouldn’t have. He was premature at 36 weeks 6 days. He was considered premature by one day, but developmentally it felt like more than just a day. He didn’t breathe at first and by the grace of God we had a wonderful nurse that recognized this before it was too late. He ended up spending a week in the NICU, the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Even when he came home, I spent that first year sheltering him from everything and everyone because the littlest cold could kill him.

            After that first year, the fear diminished, I do not worry as much about him as I once did. I do not worry that tomorrow he could come home with RSV and we will end up right back in the hospital. Instead I worry about him growing up.

            I realized today that my baby is three. He is 90% of the way potty trained, drinks out of a glass, has a love for books, and talks in semi-complete sentences. This realization not only scares me it is heartbreaking. My fragile baby now tells me not “to touch me” and would rather play with his cars and watch a movie than sit on mommy’s lap (except right now, he's currently asking me which one of his books I want him to read to me). He can communicate exactly what he wants in words, not cries. The power of three.

            He is no longer considered a baby; he is a toddler. He can keep himself busy. He can be his own best friend. He can feed himself, and put himself to bed. I no longer have to frantically call the doctor when he is coughing so hard that he vomits, he now can have ‘big boy’ cough medicine, and he takes it like a pro! The power of three.

            He's learned to ride a bike. He's learned how to open a bag of cheez its. Not only is he growing and learning new things, but so is mommy, so am I. The power of three.

            I am learning patience, and succeeding in more than I ever thought I would have. I am learning that this is not the last time I am going to have to let him go right into the mud with his trike or let him get scratched by the cat because he threw his cup at her. I can't protect him while our dog is trying to lick him, because he needs to learn to deal with problems himself. I never thought I would be that overprotective mom, but I am. I don’t want anyone or anything hurting my baby. But, he knows right from wrong and I cannot continue to shield him from the consequences. And as much as you might want to argue that he doesn’t know right from wrong I have a wonderful example: Today as he was being the ornery little boy that he is, he was walking towards my mother’s flower garden (which he knows he is not supposed to mess with).  As he is walking in a dead straight line towards this he looks back at me and grandma; he gives us a huge smile, leans down to touch the flower, turns back around and says to us “no. no!”
Or this: He had an accident today. He was too busy watching his movie to go potty. Well he wet himself, and instead of saying anything he started crying. He cried and cried and cried, until I told him he wasn't in trouble. Then he stopped crying.

            Even at three he knows right from wrong. Isn’t this incredible?

            The age of three is not just an age. It is a learning experience for everyone. Each person in my son’s life must learn the proper discipline and how much freedom each person will give. And for Mommy, well we must learn how to be patient and let go, so we can properly raise an independent, smart, man.