Letters to Maddie Bear: August, 2014

Dear Madeline,

This is the last letter I will write to you as a three year old. How bananas is that?
Four years is not a lot of time. Some days I can't believe that the child standing before me is you. But at the same time, you're so much an essential part of our lives that it doesn't seem possible that you've only been here for four years. How did the world manage to spin before there was a Maddie Bear? How did the sun manage to rise?

A year ago, I predicted that three would be an important year for you, and it has been. Not only did you become the world's greatest big sister, but you've grown in so many new and exciting ways. You're taller and leaner. Your baby curls have gone. You can communicate what you're thinking and feeling without resorting to tantrums. You remember the past and dream about the future.

For example, you want to be a mumma when you grow up. Sometimes you choose a career like a doctor, a chef, a teacher, or a pilot instead, but you always add, "A pilot and a Mumma."
One of your favorite games is to pretend that you are a grownup visiting me at my house with your babies. You enter the room on your mouse scooter, two dolls tucked under your arms, and tell me how the traffic was. Then you ask me how my day is going, introduce your babies, and tell me to make them some mac n' cheese. I hope you visit often when you really are a grownup. I'll even make mac n' cheese.

You're incredibly interested in the natural world. Outer space and the human body fascinate you the most. Sometimes you draw me pictures of bones, veins, and brains. Today you brought me a page full of scribbles and said, "Mumma, I drew your blood. Wanna hang it up?" It's now hanging on the fridge.
We went to The Museum of Science in Boston a few weeks ago where you got to assemble a life-sized replica of a female body. I thought you'd be freaked out when the lady handed you a giant kidney and instructed you to place it in the body cavity. Nope. You were so into it. You didn't move until the final organ was placed.

You're also very curious about how things are made. How's bread made, Mumma? How are people made, Mumma? How are leaves made, Mumma?
It's so incredibly cool that you're interested in these things. You are so, so smart.
Legos are your favorite toy. You make jails, houses, airplanes, and dinosaurs out of them. The other day you played with nothing but Legos from morning to night. Dada loves it!
We have two new girls around your age living across the street. You adore them. They yell hello to you from the windows of their house, and you call right back. It's super cute.

You're still not quite sure how to interact with other kids sometimes. You're a little bit shy, and a little bit confused by the games they want to play. They seem confused by you too. I sometimes worry about your gentle spirit. You don't have any meanness in you, and you're a little too willing to be bossed around.

However, we were very proud to witness you stand up for yourself while playing with a boy from the neighborhood a few days ago. He kept trying to put you in "prison," and eventually you got right up in his face and roared at him. Then he pretended to take all your powers away, and you very sassily replied, "Well, I've got even more frozen powers!" Gender politics at the preschool level, and you go girl!

Finally, we went shopping for fall clothes the other day, and you're still wearing the same shoe size as you were last year. In clothing, you're all over the place. I bought skirts in size 2T so they'd fit around the waist, pants in 4T for the length, and shirts in 5T so they'd cover your belly.

You've been taking naps on the couch all week, and you haven't napped regularly since last fall. I think you may be growing. Hope we didn't jump the gun on those new shoes...

I'm always so proud of you, so awed by you, so humbled by the responsibility of caring for you. You've taught me much more than I've ever taught you, my beautiful, brilliant little girl.

Love, Mumma