Special Delivery: For Pooh's Third Birthday

Dear Pooh:

Well, dear little boy, we have made it through the terrible twos.  For the most part, they weren't so terrible.  Not that you can't have an occasional tantrum when you don't get your way or when your idea of what it means to "share" doesn't match everyone else's.  But now that you have to hold up three fingers to show your age and have officially ordered your Batman cake, I expect that the little fits will become fewer and farther between as you move officially from a toddler to a bonafide little boy.  Just like Pinocchio.  A real boy.  

You came into our lives three years ago today, our own little groundhog, our own little Punxutawney Pooh.  Our own little blue glowworm, since you had to sleep with that phototherapy light under your gown to break down the high levels of bilirubin that made you jaundiced.  But it wasn't long before you were a happy, healthy baby, giving Googie an actual smile up in the bedroom here before you were quite six weeks old.  You have been flashing that killer smile ever since.

The fact that you are no bigger than a minute adds to your undeniable charm.  While your sisters are at the top of the growth charts for their ages, you remain small.  This makes you especially holdable and rockable, although of late your legs have finally begun to accrue a length that makes them capable of actually dangling.  You seem to have outgrown the chronic ear infections that made last winter so miserable for you (and for us).  This and the fact that you potty-trained yourself just so that you could wear your new Batman underwear are definitely moves in the right direction.

Despite your position as the filling of what is basically a sister sandwich, you are all boy.  Although the girls can sometimes entice you to play with the Barbies, you are pretty much a Buzz Lightyear and foam dart gun kind of guy.  You are further captivated by any toy that sports a set of wheels. 

I love your penchant for drama.  You do a great imitation of Horace in 101 Dalmatians, and your role as a crazed, homicidal mouse in The Nutcracker is unequalled in the history of stage and screen.  You love the bad guys in all our Disney movies, notably the evil Maleficent in Sleeping Beauty and, of course, the infamous red-gloved, piebald-haired Cruella De Vil.  I guess someone has to sympathize with the underdog.

Your mama told me a cute story while ago.  She said you got up this morning, looked in the mirror, and burst into tears.  She was puzzled, unable to imagine what could be possibly be wrong so early on your birthday morning.  Come to find out, you were disappointed because, when you saw your reflection in the mirror, you were "still little."  I guess you thought that turning three would make a big, overnight difference in your appearance.

Dear little Pooh, please don't be sad today of all days.  You look great in your new plaid Carhartt work shirt.  Today we rejoice in the blessing you have been to us for the last three years.  You will grow up all too soon.  For now, just look forward to your Batman cake.  Follow your plan to eat Batman's face, while you generously allow Sooby a boot.  This is YOUR birthday, and that is entirely fair. 

We will also remember this as the day we all found out that, come summer, you are going to have a new brother.  But that will be another celebration, another time.  One of these days, I will have to think of a new blog name that begins with "Z."

But this day belongs to you alone.  Be happy, little guy, and, most of all, know that it's okay to be your sweet little self.

Love,
Googie