And today you are three

Cooper is in the bathtub right now, after a day full of cupcakes and ice cream and presents and song. He is three. Three! Though he kept telling everyone he is five. Three years old. I wish I could take a snapshot of him right now to just keep him forever perfect and happy and young. But since that is impossible, I will try to capture him with words so that he might see the Cooper that I see now, when he is 15 and surly and thinks I am the meanest mom ever.

Dear Cooper,

If you wake up yourself in the morning, you come upstairs, trailing your blanket behind you. If I have to wake you up, you groan and cover your eyes with your hands, or pull your blanket over your head. I don't think that will change much in 12 years.

Your favorite foods are macaroni and cheese, grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup, peas, papaya, every kind of rice, and anything you can dip in something else. You eat feta, and wasabi, and duck, and spinach,(and I just stopped for a while to go clean up the the blood from you chasing Shiatsu - the cat - through the house, taking a corner in the kitchen too fast and landing on your face and splitting open your lip. You're welcome.) and have a particular fondness for eating your food by spearing pieces of whatever it is with toothpicks. You have an adventurous palate, and have eaten Thai and Japanese and El Salvadorean food with gusto. You hate mashed potatoes.

You help open the car door, and then pat my seat and say, "Have a seat."

You say "please" and "no, thank you" at the table.

Your favorite books are Gossie and Gertie, and just about anything written by Sandra Boynton. You "read" Doggies, and Moo Baa LaLaLa and But Not the Hippopotamus to me on a regular basis.

You love to sing and dance. You hate for me to dance with you. You can sing "I am a Child of God," and "Twinkle Twinkle" and "How Firm a Foundation." You love to repeat the Standard of Truth with your dad. You take a flashlight to bed with you, and point it at the ceiling while we read Goodnight, Moon.

You hate the vacuum, but you built one out of blocks and play with it.

It bothers you when I don't have my glasses on, and you go find them and give them to me.

You are fascinated by trains and cars and basically anything with wheels. You love building things. Any sort of blocks fascinate you. You build structures and call them your castles. You told everyone you were five today. You are king of the slide at pre-school. You mime putting on a seatbelt when you get on your tricycle.

You love church. Monday morning you start counting down the days until you get to go to church again.

You throw yourself at me when I'm sitting on the couch, and lay on my chest, and whisper, "Nice and comfy." I am required to give you kisses before I leave for work in the morning. If I kiss daddy after I kiss you, you insist on "last kisses." You yell, "Momma is awesome!" and throw both of your hands over your head in a cheer.

I am recording this so you know that no matter how you feel at fifteen, you loved me once. But I love you now, and still, and always. You are my joy, child of mine, and later tonight, I will go into your room after you have fallen asleep, and tuck your blankets back in, and turn off the music, and kiss your forehead and whisper, "I love you." I will whisper a little prayer over you, the same way I have for every night for three years, that you will know happiness, like the happiness I feel from being your mother; that you will know peace, like the peace I feel when I hold you in my arms at the end of the day; that you will know love, like the love that I have for you.

I love you, Cooper.

Now and always.

Momma