Three

10620697_10152983932264881_5272600821611228220_nThis lovely lady is my daughter. She is three, she is the baby, and she is the only girl. Sounds like a triple threat, right?

She was developing and growing strong inside of me while my mom was dying of brain cancer. My mom lived for two months after the birth of my daughter, but by that point the mom I knew was long gone.

My daughter was a ray of hope and happiness and sunshine from day one. She would let anyone hold her, would smile sweetly at them, and cried or fussed so rarely that when it did happen, it shocked people.

Her sweetness still abounds. She is hilarious, smart, adorable, and charming. And right now, at the ripe old age of 41 months, she is exhausting, and stubborn, and really giving me a run for my money. 

I remember this age being hard with her two big brothers as well. I seem to have forgotten just how hard, because I feel everyday like I have failed miserably to parent this girl. I feel everyday like this is phenomenally different than my boys. (And wiser people than me said, “It is!”)

I realized just tonight that she is at a disadvantage. I tend to expect much more of her than is reasonable or justifiable. I expect her to handle situations that her eight year old brother can, or to be as independent as her five year old brother. I get so tired of her acting her age.

My poor girl. 

 

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