When we were waiting for a referral, I didn’t really expect that we’d get a baby under a year old. In fact, the week before our referral, we had a conversation with our case manager about whether we should raise the bottom of our age range. I was getting older, our kids were getting older, and starting over with a baby just seemed daunting. Then, I saw her 4-month-old referral picture and it didn’t seem so overwhelming. We brought her home when she was 10 months old. And today, she turned THREE.
So what that means is that I had two babies, then they grew up. They learned to get up and entertain themselves on weekends. They took their own showers and got dressed on their own. They didn’t wear diapers. Life was relatively easy. Then, I was suddenly plunged back into the world of sippy cups, rocking to sleep, and footie pajamas. And you know what? I liked it. And now it’s over. Earlier this week, Lucy was outside my bathroom door and I said, “Is that my baby out there?” Her reply? “I not a baby!!” And she’s right.
Our three year old has tackled school with her usually unflappable nature. She now knows all the kids names, knows the routine, and doesn’t want to come home at the end of the day. She is super-smart. Sometimes, I’ll ask her to remember something for me, like we have to get cat food. Later, she’ll actually remember to remind me. She loves people. She talks to people everywhere we go. She may be the only one of our kids to follow in her dad’s fundraiser footsteps. She would definitely be good at it. Not only does she talk to people, she makes them feel good about themselves. She has gotten more picky about her food lately, becoming kind of a bland eater. Right now, I’d guess her favorite food is salami. We ate Ethiopian food for her birthday, not because that is necessarily her favorite food, but because she loves the restaurant owner.
She loves animals. Of all our kids, she is the only one who truly seeks out an animal to play with. The cats are so tolerant of her need to drag them around, sometimes by their neck. She is fascinated by people who are hurt. Whether it’s a splinter or a missing leg, she is sure to ask them about it. Just last week she saw a woman with a walking cast on her foot. She asked at least 10 questions before I could drag her away. She loves band-aids and frequently tells me “I have blood” just so she can get one. She is starting to exhibit her sense of style, and I’m sad to say that it’s girly-girl and pinky-pink. She asks to wear dresses almost every day. And she loves to get her fingernails or toenails painted.
And now she’s three. Three has never been my favorite age. Although the terrible twos have a bad rap, I’ve always found that age three presented more whining, more testing of limits, and more general crankiness. I am already seeing the beginning of this. But for the most part, Lucy is a happy, bold, compassionate kid. Kid, not a baby. And while I miss that baby, I am kind of liking the kid she is turning into.