How did you get to be three years old?

Last week, you turned three. You now speak in full sentences and “This is how…” is your favourite phrase to use in one. “This is the kitchen,” you’ll say. “This is how we make our breakfast.”

You’re tall for your age, but slim. You’ve got the height genes from your mother’s side of the family, thank goodness.

We moved to a townhouse in Pointe-Claire so you’d have a bit of a yard and we’d be in a quieter neighbourhood. You’re officially a West Islander now. You may or may not resent this when you’re older.

We now spend our Friday suppers at Harvey’s (I like their veggie burgers) and our Sunday afternoons at the library. You love your books more than anything. It’s actually become a problem as you are up hours past your bed time with all your books spread out on your bed. I know that sounds like a humble brag but it’s just what it’s like right now.

You’re still talking about meeting Gi Ant from What’s Your News? at Kids CBC days two months ago. We took you to your first movie in a theatre: Winnie the Pooh.

You skipped the terrible twos but I think at three years old, you’re going to be even more of a challenge. Did we start potty training five years ago? Feels like it.

When you’re not throwing fits over potty training, you’re a pleasant easy-going kid (too easy-going, according to your instructors at day care). We have conversations now, sometimes the same ones, over and over.

This morning, I heard a report on the radio that had researchers warning us spoiling your children with everything they want is part of something called “affluenza“. This can lead to depression and other psychological problems later in life. Well, I looked at my bank account and I can promise you that, as your father, this will never ever happen.

I’m also glad that I sprang for the stain guard on the new chesterfield.

I love you.

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