August 2007

Well Peanut, this month you have shown you are definitely three (almost four!) years old. I think you have been in “time out” once a day for this past month. I do appreciate your mad argument skillz and defiance. You are stubborn and strong willed, which will suit you well later in life. The key, however, is later in life instead of now when you are close to driving your mom insane . I am not sure what this whole hitting me and the cats thing is other than you think it is hilarious. I know you are not doing it to be evil , it is just fun to throw things including one’s fist. You have a pretty impressive wind up pre- punch: it makes Daddy and me laugh hysterically when you do this.

I love that you now go around the house pretending to be a firefighter with your tricycle in tow and trying to wear that red dorky plastic hat that never stays on your head. Insisting, however, that I call you “Fire Chief Peanut” is pushing it.

You seem to be better adjusting to school as long as we sit in the parking lot together a few minutes before we go to your classroom. As long as I stay with you for some time in your classroom you seem to be okay when I leave. You impress me that you know some of your letters already and your comparison of colors blows me away. “Mommy, this yellow spoon is the exact color as my shirt”. And it is, spot on the exact shade (even though the spoon and shirt are green).

I am so happy you are a well mannered boy. When I am pretty sure the Devil has taken over your body for the day, I am so pleasantly comforted that you are not evil/rotten/spoiled as some children that we see out in public.

Your appetite has skyrocketed! And, you are not throwing it up! Yayhoo! That is a major victory for you.

I was driving home from dropping you off at school today and a local radio station was doing a radiothon for Children’s Miracle Network and TMC. All of the memories came flooding back and I realized how fiercely proud I am to be your mom. You have overcome extreme obstacles that you should not have. No more therapy three times a week. No more wondering if you will really walk and talk. No more wondering when I can take a deep breath of relief from knowing you might have quirks but you’ll be okay. You are okay. I love you Peanut.