I've been trying to prepare you for the arrival of your baby sister, but so far my efforts seem to be a failure. I've yet to have you cry or gnash your teeth. You haven't yet told me you don't want the baby to come to our house and you haven't tried to destroy her room or any of the baby things that litter the rooms of our house. Johnny, this is not normal. You are not supposed to be HAPPY about getting a new baby. You are supposed to be CONFUSED and ANGRY and VENGEFUL. At least, this is what I read and what the experts tell me. You should feel like a jealous wife whose husband has announced he's bringing home a concubine.
Despite my efforts, you continue to ask to see my tummy and pat the baby inside it. You look at the bassinet and say "That's Lily's?" and beam with pride when people ask if you're going to be a big brother. You seem downright excited about the prospect of meeting our new addition. You're thrilled to be getting a short vacation to Grammy's house while I am in the hospital and so far not at all distressed that you're getting kicked out of the nest for awhile to make room for baby.
Granted, it hasn't happened yet. You haven't been confronted with the reality of your parents focusing on a new, crying being who doesn't get the importance of Buzz Lightyear in a daily routine. So, I'll withhold some judgement until the deed is actually done, and just say "So far, so good."
Christmas was a blast with you this year. You totally "got" who Santa is and for days afterward reassured me and yourself aloud that Santa had been here and he ATE THOSE COOKIES. You're still depressed that Christmas is over and the tree is gone, but you've consoled yourself with the fact that we have SNOW ON THE GROUND! THAT IS SNOW, MAMA! IT IS WINTERTIME! Which apparently is almost as good as Christmas if you are three.
You're a good boy all around. You're so loving and intuitive, I can't imagine you being anything but a doting big brother. (Yes, I'm delusional, but I'm nine months pregnant and I need to bright side everything in my life.) You're funny and smart and a constant source of delight. You're fully obsessed with Toy Story and everything related to it. You completed your set of Toy Story folks at Christmas and now are prone to carrying around Jessie, Bullseye, Buzz, Woody, and Slinky Dog all at the same time. You demand we read the Toy Story book every night before bed (Oh, I never thought I'd see the day wherein I *missed* Chicka Chicka Boom Boom) and beg and bargain to watch one of the Toy Story movies at some point every day. Buzz and Woody are as much a part of our family now as you are.
This week, you were sick with some unnamed virus so you stayed home from school and hung out with your Grandma and now you're spoiled rotten and think it's your birthright to eat mashed potatoes for every meal and commandeer every "blanklet" in the house for your snuggling needs. I don't mind so much that I've been up all night with you every night, because you are so loving and sweet when you are sick, I take some perverse pleasure in it. Hearing a feverish "I lub you, Mama" makes being awake at 3:00 in the morning totally okay.
Bless you and your precious heart. I am overjoyed that you are my little boy. Lily sure has a tough act to follow.
All my love,