Paul is so old. He has not had a toilet accident in more than a week (and only two or three bed wettings in that time, trust me that’s an improvement over last week since he has insisted on wearing underpants and not pull-ups even to bed). He’s beginning to say “I’ll do it all by myself.” He wakes himself up in the night to go potty. He asks to use a “big boy plate” at dinner and at least one meal a day I give him a cup that is not a sippy cup and he does not spill.

I have just tucked him in to bed after a very fun third birthday. I gave myself a rule this morning that I wouldn’t let myself be distracted by the chores (Thursday is normally my clean the whole house day) or blogging (I like to blog on Rebecca Reads far more than here, if you haven’t noticed) or reading my novel (sometimes I admit that a novel is in my hand as I play with him. It’s amazing how much one can read in the in-between moments every day).

No, instead, today was his day. I gave him my undivided attention. Even as I cooked dinner (his favorite and his request, Cream of Pumpkin Soup), I was still giving him attention as much as I could. And it made for day of delight. I’m just as tired as the toddler, since we played his new Busytown Game for five hours (it requires crawling from one side of the six-foot game board to the other through the course of one game) so I know such one-on-one time is not doable every day. But it was so nice to enjoy my son thoroughly.

I absolutely loved the newborn stage. I loved that I was able to cuddle him constantly and no one tried to take him away from me and I didn’t want to let anyone take him away from me (I was not yet burned out, I suppose). I loved that only I could nurse him. He needed his mother regularly through the day and it was such a special time, even in the middle of the night as we dosed off together. I loved that he was innocent and learning how to control his arms, his legs, his head. Everything was so wonderful about newborn Paul. Even the spit-up I didn’t mind so much as Daddy did.

I haven’t loved the other stages. Once he started to crawl and walk and talk, I found myself wondering why I’d been so excited for those milestones. I didn’t like his inability to communicate and his out-of-control self, even as he thought he could do things. But now, in the past few weeks, I feel Paul has crossed a new milestone and I love this one. This new age, age three, the preschool years, is a remarkable one. My parenting book, which I haven’t looked at for probably two years but recently referred to, calls the twos the “terrible twos” and the threes and fours the “magical years.”

I can really see his world becoming “magical”.  He still cannot control his emotions very well (especially at the end of the day, when he’s been up for the full 12 hours) and he certainly has his opinions on what he wants to be doing and what he wants me to do (“come play with me, Mommy! Right! NOW!”) But suddenly he has imaginary friends, he gets wide-eyed as I tell him fairy tales, and he asks questions and tells stories about the past, present, and future. He’s putting things together, and learning at an exponential rate. He reads his numbers, one to 13; he knows the phonics of every letter, although he doesn’t read words yet; he knows right from left; he knows both of his parents names; and we’re almost there on his phone number. (If I tell it to him, he knows it is his phone number, and if I stop part way through he can finish it, usually).

Today we were driving and he was calling out the numbers on speed limit signs.

“4!5!” he said.

“Yes, that’s 45,” I replied, turning left on to a side road.

“3!0!” he exclaimed.

“Is 30 slower or faster than 45?” I asked.

“Slower” he said, noting the slowed speed of the car.

“Yes! 30 is a lower number than 45, so 30 miles per hour is slower than 45 miles per hour.” We played with our basket of apples when we got home and talked about how three apples is less than four apples. And two and one are both less than three. He doesn’t really get it (well, he probably did for a moment but has already forgotten) but it was so fun to see that the he’s learning and that we can talk about real things. The world is magical, but he’s learning that it can also be explained if he just learns how.

I can’t wait to see where we go in the next year.

Happy birthday, Raisin!