Anna Banana is Three Years Old Now, The World Should Really Start Bracing Itself

The longer I parent, the more I understand the weird things my parents did.

Anna turned 3 last week and I felt compelled to verbally march her through the day she was born, hour-by-hour, as if she cared. Just like my parents always used to try to do on my birthday. Kids don’t care. I kept reminiscing sentimentally and wanting to pull her into it. “Remember when you were born? Wasn’t that so cool?”

She’s 3 and she’s all snark and has all the words, so her reaction was something like, “Leave me alone, woman. Tell me about this cake we’re commissioning daddy to build.”

She’s amazing and I’m so insanely proud she’s my kid. She’s always been a combo of cute and criminal, a little blond feisty tornado. It’s awesome. She’s focused and intense, like a laser beam that burns a hole in the sun just for funsies. She has a terrifyingly quick mind and her retention of info is mystifying. I’m almost positive she has my ATM code and SS# memorized. She sings all the time. She loves and plays hard. She hates to sleep because it’s harder to terrorize villagers from her bed.

She’s on pace to be one of the strongest, most bad ass people ever. I hope she always knows what she wants and says it and says it again and says it again until she gets it or gets a damned good reason why she can’t have it. I also hope she grows up in a world where it’s assumed that she’s smart and competent and strong and can do all things, where she always is the one who decides who she is and what she’s about.
So, I’m proud of her and I’m proud of us. We now have two human people who have survived us intact to the point in time where they can use the toilet properly and can understand complex instructions (and choose to follow them about 12% of the time).
I’d drop the mic over this parenting milestone, but I know I’d be the one picking it up again and putting it away. So I’ll just set it down in its case gently and make sure the lid is closed. Then I should probably put the whole thing up high, or so help me, this child will tear off the cord and eat the top of it like a snowcone, because I think she might be be part robot wolf.
Oh, but wait, I know she is not because I was there when she was born. I should tell her about that whole day again. She was probably distracted by cake and presents the first time, but it’s a really great story…


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