and just like that

She's three.

Today this very day my firstborn achieves the elite status that is three. Not a girl, not yet a woman. 

I deeply doubt I'm the only mother ever that becomes a little introspective on the occasion of her child's birthday. I've been thinking a bit this week about what this year was to me, to us, to this family. How much much much Jordan changed; what/who we've added to our lives since her last birthday; how I've had to adapt as Jordan grows and tests and pushes and experiments with the circumambient boundaries of home life. 

This year. Hm. This was a tough one. It was gratifying too, and frequently punctuated with the hilarity that is the sibling dynamic, and a two year old's increasing vocabulary. But the newness of juggling what were, at the time, two difficult children (Jordan = terrible two's, Weston = colicky + what is sleep?), in addition to acclimating to stay-at-home-momhood...it was a strange few months there for awhile. All the while Jordan was keeping me sharp. She alternated fitz n the tantrums for the world to hear/see/sense deep within its soul with the most comic genius since Mitch Hedburg. I wasn't sure how to combat meltdowns that saw her hurling her entire body against a closed door, when the next sentence out of her mouth could be, "Why is your fo'head sad Mom?" (She thought the sweat produced from a Jillian Michaels workout was tears. The tears of my forehead. You guys...) And what to do, when she pinches Weston (hard!) for some offense that was probably not offensive, when a few minutes later it's: "it's okay buddy, I'm right here. I not gonna leave you. I not goin' anywhere."?

Ok I feel like I'm deviating from the traditional sing-the-good-stuff birthday post here. And there is so much good stuff. Jordan is this person who encompasses so many antonyms. She is unpredictable and yet steady. She is generous and loving and selfish in the same breath. She is a friend and a mother to her little brother - but watch carefully because that plastic saucepan could come smacking down on his skull should he overstep. She is frank, sincere, and devious and deceptive. She cares fiercely and rejects harshly. She does these, all of these, whimsically and seamlessly and in a toddler fashion that is also beyond her years.

As I laid in her bed last night and sang her the nightly lineup in my broken, harpy voice (Barney Song, Let It Go, "Mass One" (Glory to God), You're a Mean One Mr. Grinch, Winnie the Pooh - IN THAT ORDER DON'T SKIP A SONG MOM) the thought crossed my mind: it's you're last night to be two, girl. Which I promptly voiced to her and received, "Yeah....I'ne ahmost three..." in a deflated little voice that undoubtedly was meant to mirror my own. Of course her concept of the passage of time is close to nonexistent ("We're going to have Christmas tomowwow?") but there is an old soul wisdom about her that could just know that these are good years. These young innocent years where fun is an overheated park slide, and a splash pad fountain that unexpectedly shoots water up your nose, and a session of methodically emptying all 68 stuffed animals and puzzles from the toy box, and snapping an empty Pez dispenser repeatedly to hear the belly laugh your brother gives you. I want her to know that these are the good years. And I want me to know that too.

So happy day, to my Jordan Girl. You keep doing you - it's just really fun to watch.