My baby boy is three?...how is it possible?

You turned three. I turned around in the middle of all this chaos and there you were giving me that goofy grin, smiling and lighting up my life, and you were bigger--taller and more grown up.

Your feet grew in the last two weeks. I only brought one pair of shoes on this trip and already those small baby feet are longer, leaner, less chubby around the edges. I squeeze your foot in your sandals to go out and you scream "aiye" like a little French guy, "ca fait mal maman!"

You have the mark of many cultures with your ultra cool "gimmee five" announcements and your little high five gesture Uncle Wayne taught you. You say this a lot. But then you'll say "gimmee BLUE" and I laugh because it's clear you don't fit in completely. You have to be raised in the culture to get it.

You have discovered that grammy has Coke in her fridge and you don't stop asking for it. Two weeks of Coke addiction. Two months of Coke addiction because the Mexican waiters at the hotel love to bring you Cokes. I always swore I'd never give you Coke.

You seem to be vaguely aware of the baby coming. You may not understand but somehow I think you sense that major changes are coming. I think you'll be jealous and this is normal. I hope you won't feel replaced but I know that's inevitable. I'm trying to enjoy these last few weeks of just us.

You still aren't much of a talker. You repeat a lot of the tail end of what I say to you like a little parrot. You don't make much eye contact. I know you understand what I say and I'm desperate to be able to talk with you. I am being patient though. Strangely enough I'm no longer worried. I know you'll talk more when you're ready.

In the hotel and at grammy and grandpa's house you and I have been forced to share a bed. Sleeping with you each night for two months--the little heaving chest and sigh before drifting off, an arm slung across mine to be sure I'm still there, a night fright and a cry--all lasting just a few seconds. I've come to know your patterns so well. I enjoy having you near me but I know you need the independence of your own room.

Happy Birthday sweet boy. You are three and I am dumbstruck--not aware of the days that have passed since you were pulled into this world. I feel like time is a tornado spinning around us, picking up all the little moments and hurling them violently into months and years. I barely have time to notice--take notes, snap pictures, soak it all in. It's all so chaotic. It's all so fast and furious. Maybe life will be a little slower this year. That's the highest hope I can wish for us--longer days and more time to hold all these little moment in our hearts.