Dear Callum,

It’s your last month of being three.  I’ve been meaning to look at the letters I wrote your big brothers when they were at this age, because I wanted to prove to myself that I’ve survived this stage twice more and will do it again.

Update:  I checked out the last two times I wrote a 47-month letter, and I found this quote.  I wrote it for Tobin, but it could work just as well for you:

“Even though I do my best to cherish you and your brothers at every age, I admit I’m looking forward to you being four.  Four is easier than three, I think.  You’ll be at a new school, making new friends and adapting to a new environment.  I’m excited to see how you grow and develop over the next year, especially as you mature and stop screaming so much.”

You aren’t a screamer, actually.  Volume isn’t typically a huge squabble, except when you torture your brothers by begging for their attention through smacks and kicks.  Right now our biggest challenge is that you’re very attached to me and frequently demand that I do things your dad is ready and willing to do.  This could be getting you out of your carseat after a drive, filling your water cup at dinner, or getting you dressed.  The most troubling one is that you will only let me help you go to the bathroom.  This can be at a problem when I’m away from the house for more than an hour or so.  I was at a PTO meeting last week, and your dad texted me saying if I didn’t get home soon, you were going to wet your pants.  This could be a serious issue next month when I take a 3-day trip with your brothers.  My goal over the next few weeks is to get you to go to the bathroom by yourself.  This is an important skill for preschool anyway.   You have until the fall to get that under control, but I bet your dad would appreciate the savings in meltdowns and laundry while I’m gone.

You are stubborn and opinionated, which is common among three-year-olds, but it can get tiring.  You see the freedoms your big brothers have and want to be just as independent as they are.  You seem to be losing interest in little-kid things like Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood and fingerpainting, preferring to build guns out of bristle blocks and make blasting noises as you fire them at me.  I do not like this.  I do not like it a bit.  I try to give you no positive feedback when you do that.  Mostly I just ignore it, but sometimes I scowl and say I don’t like it.  Sometimes it’s hard for me to understand what motivates you.  I’m hoping that you care enough about me that you wouldn’t want to upset me, but maybe that isn’t a clear enough directive.  Your dad’s strategy is to say that you’re shooting potato salad and pudding.  That’s better, I guess, but mostly I wish you’d just build a house with your blocks.

You love your brothers outrageously, and their arrival home from school is the best part of your day.  Sometimes it’s hard on them to immediately start entertaining you, since they’ve both just finished tough school days and want to relax without a little kid all over them.  Mostly they’re nice about it, and usually after you all have a snack together, they’re ready to include you in a little recreation.  I’m sure that’s where you get a lot of your interest in toys and games that are intended for an older consumer.  I draw a hard line at games and videos that depict actual violence, even in a cartoony way, but all three of you enjoy watching YouTubers blast each other with Nerf guns.

You do the same thing I remember both your brothers doing, which is running in one direction and looking in another.  That has led to some bonks.  The night before Thanksgiving, you face-planted into your bed frame and gave yourself a bloody nose and a fat lip.  Fortunately they weren’t too serious, and you looked pretty normal for the family events the rest of the weekend.

Maybe it’s because you’re my last baby, but it’s hard for me to imagine you going to school in the fall.  Your brothers were already in preschool by your current age, because at this point in both of their lives, a new baby had joined the family, and I needed a structured activity for them out of the house.  We’ve been less proactive about that sort of thing with you, and I hope it’s not too much of a shock when you start.  You’ve been to a thousand school functions, so surely you’re familiar with the basic school environment and atmosphere.  As long as I can get you to accept help from a non-Mommy person, you can probably handle it.  You’ve been doing better at staying in your bed all night.  You’re not at one hundred percent mastery yet, but you haven’t slept in your dad’s and my bed in a long time.  What you do instead is get out of your bed and start walking down the hallway.  You’re usually pretty accepting of getting back into your own bed once I intercept you, but it would be even better if you just stayed there in the first place.  I keep meaning to put WD-40 on the hinges of your door, but actually it’s probably better to leave it squeaky, because that tell-tale squeal usually wakes me up so I can catch you before you make it too far.

Your current favorites:  cutting things up with scissors (including opening packages–heaven forbid I tear open a pack of fruit snacks for you), going to Walgreen’s, watching YouTube videos by emmymadeinjapan, waffles, and having blaster battles with your dad and brothers.  You love helping me make your meals, and your favorite shape for toast is still a rhombus.  I have to cut triangular corners off the toast rectangles to form the rhombus, but you still enjoy eating those.  You call them toast pizzas.

Enjoy your last month of three-dom, Callum.  The next year will bring many changes, but I know you can do it.

Love,

Mommy