Christmas program.

Mason had his Christmas program last week. (Can you believe I'm already blogging it? I know me neither.)

It was well orchestrated. It was quick. It was one of the most adorable things I've ever seen. And it was the last preschool holiday program he'll ever be in.

Bittersweet.

Sometimes I think I cannot believe he is about to turn FIVE. That's a whole hand. That is SO old. Especially when I a picture like this.

Then I see pictures like this.

And I die.

A thousand deaths of holy cuteness. The preciousness oozing from that little face. Ohmygod.

He is so little still. Really, just a little peanut. He's well over three feet, but oddly enough he is nowhere close to four feet yet.

He rocked out to Rudolph. He practiced diligently the entire week before. He did it while (he thought) no one was watching. He did it on the way to school in the car. He did it right before bed. He wanted to be ready for the crowds, to sing it just perfectly. And oh, he did.

I love the way he glanced proudly in to the church pews. Smiling though his bright little eyes. And then he waved. Not just to anyone, but to me. And he flashed his smile, dimples and all. Slid his tongue across his teeth. A Mason-trademark of excitement.

 And I was reminded once again, just what a small little guy he is. He has come a long way since this time last year. He isn't painfully shy, but he occasionally tugged at the bottom of his shirt, like a little flashback to the coyness he's possessed all along.

That sweet, shy smile, that off beat performance, that little holiday carol. It's going down with Rudolph, in history.

oh mickey shirt.

Mason's been fully potty trained (well daytime fully) for about 6 months now. I feel super lucky he was fairly easy to train. fairly easy as in i gave him a deadline ("when we get home from Boston..") and told him after that he could kiss his diapers good-bye. He was ready. He did it quickly and with no fight. In fact, I'm going to brag for a second and admit he only had two accidents and four days later he was totally in big boy undies.

At school he uses the potty and has yet to be sent home in his spare clothing set I sent in for accidents. The other day I was picking him up from school and was about fifteen minutes early, so they were still in their classes playing. I peeked in to see if I could just watch him interacting and see what he was doing, but I couldn't spot the grey tee I'd sent him in that AM. I kept scanning the room and even stepped back in the hall to make sure I was at the right room. I was. Double take, I found his black and white samba's and noticed he was head to toe in royal blue. I sent him to school in a cute grey shirt with a nice pair of khaki cargo shorts and they were sending him home a Smurf. It was then I realized I'd taken his extra set of clothes out of his backpack that weekend to pack a "diaper bag" for the car and never stuck the clothing back in. Poor Mason had to wear some random outfit the teachers had stuffed away in their "extras" closet. Based on the overall color fading and tightness of the shorts I'm guessing they weren't even from the 3's class he's in but probably a size 18 months. Mommy fail.

His teacher explained he had an accident during their nap, yet he hadn't even slept. Joy. Peed his pants AND skipped a nap. But that didn't even bother me...I mean all kids have accidents, I'd been extremely lucky to have been unscathed to this point with no soaked underoos on a weekly basis. I was counting my lucky stars that this was the one time it'd happened and I wasn't mid Target run. But what bothered me was this tacky little outfit they'd squeezed him in to instead. I know how incredibly shallow it sounds, but it's the truth. I rushed him out of that class to the parking lot quicker than we've moved, well ever. I didn't want someone to think I'd chosen that outfit for him...it wasn't the "Oh how cute your toddler picked rain boots and a Halloween costume this morning" style, it was "Wow that lady needs to invest in clothes that fit her kid and aren't Smurf like". Shallow. Fail.

Once we'd successfully escaped the school grounds and were hidden deep in our SUV, I turned around and cracked up at just the sight of him. He was so proud of his ensemble. I asked him what happened to his nice shorts and he nonchalantly explained "I peed my pants, k mommy? It's okay, I'm still a big boy". I reassured him that he was still a very big boy and that we all have accidents. Again, the accident was the least of my worries. I said "Who's clothes are those?" He had no clue, but he told me he wanted to wear this outfit everyday, because he loved this shirt so much. He kept telling me how awesome he looked and that all the kids wanted to wear his shirt. I started to feel guilty and ridiculous and instead of correcting him with my opinion that the shirt was not so awesome and that he looked like he was wearing jammie shorts and too much blue, I said "Mason you do look awesome". He rightfully said "Because I am awesome Mommy. Oh this Mickey shirt makes me so awesome". Awesome people. Ridiculously awesome.
And if that isn't the best blackmail picture for prom night, I don't want to see what is.

Ready or not.

Three years ago today, I was not a mother. I was around eight months pregnant in the hospital in labor, trying to sleep, but anxiously awaiting the impeding arrival of a precious baby boy. Three years ago today I didn't know Mason. It's so strange to think back to life pre-baby (or babies), but believe it or not, it existed. Not knowing the challenges or the extreme joys I was in for. Just three years ago. Three years ago today, I'd never smelled his fresh newborn forehead. I never knew how small a newborn could be. I never fathomed what five pounds of baby actually looked like. So small. From head to toe you were tiny. Perfect. Perfectly tiny. I never counted his toes or tried with all my might to cut tiny toenails without clipping off some skin. I never traced his spine with my fingers and watched him breathe all night long. Just three years ago.Three years is a long time, you can almost get a bachelors degree in a subject of your choice, you actually can if you have no life. You can train for mutliple marathons, birth three children, travel the world. Hell you could probably walk from Mexico City to Vancouver, Canada, if you wanted to.

But three years goes quick. So quick that I still smell NICU soap on my hands if I close my eyes. I can still remember the taste of the pasta salad we lived on for a week while we waited for Mason to be discharged from the hospital. Three years has flown by.I'm not quite sure what it is about three. But three is daunting. Atleast for me. I'm sure nothing is frightening or upsetting about three for Mr. Mason. But three means he is no longer a toddler. I was a little apprehensive to be a mom to a 'kid' but a friend of mine reassured me he was only a 'preschooler', nonetheless, he's no longer a toddler.

It's pretty simple to see just looking as his narrowed cheeks, his thinned fingers, and listening to his totally audible speech. No baby babbling. Words. He speaks sentences, that is so preschool. His hands no longer possess the roll where his wrist meets his palms. And he most certainly does not have the same cheeks he was born with.I'm really not sure about three. Maybe it's because two was so fun, so good to us, that three can't possibly top it. I'm just not quite sure.

I'll have a preschooler tomorrow. Just three years ago I had a newborn. That went quick.
I watched a video of Mason's first steps the other day. It looked like someone was holding a gun to his back, he wavered in nearly each small step, but it was such a success, he was walking. Today I watched him run down the street. He ran quickly and with ease. Totally steady, not one wavering step.It's funny how people try to get prepared for a new baby. Prewash, double rinse, rewash in Dreft. Loads of laundry, swaddling blankets and sleepers washed, baby bedding washed (and even ironed) just awaiting a noodle bodied newborn. Freshly painted nursery walls, diapers in two sizes stacked in the changing table. Car seat installed, uninstalled and reinstalled. Just to be sure, just to be safe.But really it doesn't matter how ready you think you are. You just can't be ready. How do you prepare for your whole life to change in the blink of an eye. Literally. You blink and then you meet your newborn baby.One minute you are not a mom, the next you are. Suddenly it's like you have this huge responsibility, this wrinkled, pink, generally pissed infant needing you to do everything for them. Everything. Three years ago, you made me a mom. For that I'd like to thank you Mason.I was anything but ready for Mason. Arriving more than four weeks early, I wasn't even stocked on diapers. I surely wasn't ready for the tar-like poop you get when you first change the Pamper. I'm not quite sure I even knew how to change a diaper of a real infant. I didn't own a sleeper for a baby as small as Mason was. I'd washed plenty of cute rompers, folded and matched tons of socks, but he swam in every piece of clothing I'd bought.
I wasn't ready to feel like I was holding something so fragile I might break it. Three years later I sometimes still feel like I'm holding a fragile newborn, his face has changed, undoubtedly, yet, it's so much the same.I don't really remember the first time I held him. I remember he felt floppy like a noodle, I felt like I was going to break him, that memory is crystal clear. Within two days I felt like he was unbreakable, that was a quick adjustment. I was worried when I first met Mason that I wouldn't know how to love him. That I wouldn't know what to do. For anything. How much would he need to eat and when could I tell if he was full? Surely that'd be one of my easiest challenges. Would love come immediately? If it didn't would it never come?I worried something would be wrong. Every minute of delivery, every day in the NICU. Finally he came home and I felt love and relief and the worry was gone. Love came quick. Loving Mason came easy.The past three years have been blissful, they've been challenging, they've been fun and funny and non stop. The past three years have been hard, really, really hard. The past three years have been the best years I've had yet.
Just three years ago I first heard you cry. You came to me quickly. Right in time to finish up a Grey's Anatomy "To Be Continued...", right in time to stare at you intently for a whole night, right in time. I can't believe it's been three whole years since we first met.I never thought I'd love anyone the way I love you. But you proved me wrong. Oh. So. Wrong. It only took me 3 minutes to feel overwhelming love for you. Just three quick, short minutes to feel that way, but the three years has made it rock solid. Everyday you do something that makes me love you more. Everyday I learn something new about you. You never cease to amaze me.
Tomorrow my baby will be three. Ready or not, he's turning three. No slow motion button, no rewind, nope, not happening. But three, oh that is happening. He will blow out candles tomorrow. He will wake up and be three. (I'm waiting to celebrate until 7:05pm, because I can and hey, every minute counts).I guess three can't be bad. Not with a preschooler as awesome as you. Three is more than half your whole hand. That's pretty cool and you are pretty damn cool yourself. Let's see what three will bring. I will try my hardest not to blink this year. Because it's already been three years. Thank you for being mine.
Three years old. That was quick. Maybe too quick. But ready or not, it's here. Mason Michael, you are three years old and I barely blinked.