My Little 3 Year Old

Happy Birthday Ms. Anna Banana. It was three years ago today when your mother refused to admit she was in labor because she "had some loose ends to tie up at work," and I paced around frantically, not able to think about anything but your impending arrival. When you were born, you were this tiny little thing. But today, three years later, you woke up and greeted me with this conversation:

Anna: "Am I three now?"
Me: "Yes, yes you are. Happy birthday!"
Anna: "Does that mean I start preschool today?"
Me: "Not yet. But soon."
Anna: "OK."
Me: "Why don't you go potty."
I start to put the Sesame Street potty seat up on the toilet, but Anna throws up a hand and waves me off.
Anna: "Dad, I'm three. I don't need that anymore."

They all have to grow up sometime. You just wish it didn't happen so fast.


 To Anna: You are sweet, kind, adorable and smart—just like your dad. Stay that way. Always.

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