Darwin, ::sigh:: today you are three years old.
That's officially not-a-baby-anymore, despite the fact that you refuse to use the potty and you're still a running pooper.
And a massive punk.
I should have realized what a punk you would be when you were still in my belly. You tried to come at 22 weeks. Which resulted in a hospital stay, horse pills and bed rest. Then, an hour after you were born the nurses took you to the NICU. A few hours later, a doctor told us you wouldn't make it through the night.
But you did. And then never figured out what was wrong with you.
Within a month you were visiting tons of doctors and no one could figure out what new thing was wrong with you -- a massive rash all over your body. By six months, we had figured out you were allergic to everything in the Universe. Duh. And so began our adventures in allergies. Had it not been for you, I may have never discovered my allergy to wheat and would continue to live my life in constant pain. Thanks for that gift.
At 15 months old you had your horrible eye accident. I knew you'd be fine, and you are. Yeah, okay -- you're blind in your left eye and that sucks ass. But you didn't have have brain damage and your third cyatic nerve regenerated so most people can't even tell. And you don't notice the difference either, except for the few occasions your left shoulder runs into something.
And the massive punkiness continues.
You are obsessed with all things music. Unless, of course, I'm singing along. Then you yell, "No! Mommy! I no like it!"
You particularly love to rock out to Hard-Fi, Jimi Hendrix, Cream, Bloodhound Gang, Arctic Monkeys and Amy Winehouse. They're not sending you to rehab, no, no, no.
When you get excited about something, you march around the house and pump your arms and chant, "Oh yeah, oh yeah," like rock on, dude.
And whenever you hear something you like (like, oh, say, I'll make you another bottle), you clap your hands and shout, "Bravo! Bravo!"
You like all things boy -- sharks, dinosaurs, elephants, cars and legos. That is, when you can sneak them away from your brother.
Thanks for choosing me as your mom. Happy birthday sweetie.