Please just be 3 forever.

On Thursday, Finn wrote his name. 

By himself.

Thursday morning he didn’t even know how to make a lowercase N.

Or spell his name.

At least I don’t think he did.  Maybe he’s been secretly learning it behind my back like a spy.

He does know how to spell O-H-I-O, he learned to spell that just about when he started talking.  That right there is the beauty of being a Buckeye.

He told me today that his favorite color is red and his favorite shape is a hexagon.  Really?  Can’t we just stick with the easies like a triangle?  What kind of rhombus polygon {thanks Nikki} loving old man is trapped in the body of my little Finna?

He is three years and four months and I am thinking, this is a good age for him to just stop. 
No more getting bigger.  No more new pairs of jeans.  No more smelling your sweaty boy smell instead of like a baby.  No more of this sponge like learning that knocks me flat on my ass every single day. 

And for sure no more with the Ticonderoga #2.

If you see me carted off to the looney bin, you’ll know it’s the day when the  post-nap cuddles finally stopped. 

Right now, I get the unprompted, “I love you Mommy.”  When do the fights between us start, because I’d really like to skip that.  I want him to always give me hugs and eskimo kisses and run for me when something hurts.

His lanky legs are already too big to fold up like he used to, froggy style so he could lay his head on my chest when I rocked him before bed.  Gone away is the rocking.  Pretty soon, he’ll be reading his own bedtime stories.

And I just want to freeze time, right here.  Right now.

It’s going too fast and I feel like I blink and more of it disappears.