Share this:
You’re three big years old! I can’t believe it’s been three years, and yet, I can’t remember life before you.
So much has happened, even in the last few weeks before your birthday. You’re potty trained now, with only a few accidents. You give real kisses and hugs. You say things like excuse me, please, thank you, and God bless you – without prompting. You like to pick out your own clothes. You order your own food at restaurants. You help me with the laundry. You sing songs like “The Wheels on the Bus,” “Happy Birthday,” and “Mamma Mia.”
Tonight, for the first time, you’re sleeping in your big boy bed. You picked out the sheets yourself with money that Grandpa Gene sent you. We got Cars sheets and Mickey Mouse sheets; you’re sleeping on Cars sheets tonight. I half-expect to find you in the Diego tent that Aunt Jillian bought when I go to check on you later. You were as excited about that as about the bed.
You’re such a big boy now. You’re not a baby anymore.
But you’ll always be my baby.
That’s me: Christina Gleason. I’m a writer, editor, and disability advocate. I'm a multiply disabled autistic lady doing my best in this world built for abled people. I’m a geek for grammar, fantasy, and casual gaming. I hate vegetables. I cannot reliably speak, so I’ll happily conduct business over email or messaging instead.
