Birth of a Pirate

Screaming, and tears, whining, resistance, defiance. You take rebellion to illogical, emotional levels that your brother's never dreamed of. He'll often start the uprising, but he knows when to cut his losses, and watches in wonder while you seem hellbent for destruction. Time and again I find myself in a frustrating game of chicken with you, the 3-yr old vs this harried authority figure known as Mommy. Logic holds no sway here. 'Damn the torpedoes! I am three, hear me roar! Don't speak to me of consequences, for they hold no meaning in this land, this great eternal NOW. I don't want to, and that should be enough for you!'

Oh, Sweetcheeks. You were such a sweet baby. Just as laid back as could be, you were sent by angels who pitied me after your brother's babyhood. Sweet, sweet, cuddly precious little thing. Who could have imagined you had such iron resolve under those smiles and curls? You've lost those poochy baby jowls that gave you your nickname, and you have earned your new nickname, "The Pirate". It pleases you.

Yet now, shining auburn hair spread across your pillow, framing your peaceful face as you dream your pirate dreams, you are radiant. You are love, pure, fierce and breathtaking. I've never known anyone to utter the words "I love you" as often as they leave your lips. I've never known a more enthusiastic snuggler. I've never chosen to pour myself into anyone as emotionally needy as you are, my wonderful middle child. I love you so much, and you drive me crazy, and you're beautiful.

You are a marvel, my little Pirate. A walking paradox. A small, strong bundle of defiance and overflowing love. Navigate life's uncharted seas with your 3-yr old fearlessness and enthusiasm. Keep loving like there's no tomorrow. Be ever true to yourself. And please, please, to all powers that be, may you grow to temper your resolve with understanding.