On The Day You Turn Three

Gazing at you softly sleeping in your bed, the days of your crib have long passed, chocolate brown ringlets dangle in front of eyes opening slowly, peering at me, noticing me, and I smile.  My heart fills with love for your sweet face, tiny body, little hands, and I remember the days that have passed since the day you were born.  Three short years ago, your tiny five-pound body entered this world, and you filled the room with your beautiful voice.  Oh, how I love your voice, the songs you sing, the stories you imagine, and the sweet, soft whispers you mumble in my ear. 

Filled with excitement for a new day, you jump out of bed, and change into your princess dress, twirling, floating across the room.  You are my baby, my last baby, and today you are three.  Staring at you, I see the little girl you have become, the baby rolls, diapers, pacifiers, swaddling blankets are all gone, given away, no longer needed. 

I call you my baby, but you are no longer a baby.  You speak, and words come out in sentences, unbroken and clear.  You sing, and new melodies fill the room with your voice.  You walk steadily across a room, run swiftly through freshly cut grass, skipping every other step, jumping over rocks and puddles.  You climb into bed at night without asking to be rocked, and I know if I offer, you will let me, but you no longer need the soft snuggles, quiet singing, and gentle rocking to be lulled to sleep. 

No, you are no longer a baby, my little last baby, but you will always be my baby. No matter how big you grow or how far away you move, I will always be your mommy, and you will always be my baby.  So on this day that you turn three, dance, twirl, sing, and run like the big girl you are, but when the day comes to an end, and your body needs rest, fall into my arms, and let me rock you, hold you, cuddle you, and sing softly in your ear because you are my little last baby, and I need it more than you do.