A Belated Birthday Wish...

My baby is 3. My baby is no longer, well, a baby.
He is potty trained.
He knows his ABC's.
He yells at me for starting the car before putting on my seat belt and he knows God made the mountains.
He can't wear pants, shoes or socks inside.
He can't imagine leaving the library with a book not containing a monster truck and his favorite Hot Wheels car is named Sally.
Dogs are for riding, chickens are for chasing and siblings are for giggling.
He can still be convinced to do anything Elaina bids, her esteem only equaled by my own.
Bubbles=Bliss.
Default speed is a jog and he can hold his own on his scooter. When grandparents visit, he still wants to sit next to me. He's even tempered, not emotion driven, injustices are simply that.
Bottom's and the noises they possess are hilarious.
Deception isn't on his radar, yet.
The sun, moon and stars reside in his sister.
Even when he "can't stand up!" I want to scoop him in my arms and smother him in mommy kisses.
He loves me more than "sparkly pink unicorns."
Happy Birthday Boo-Boo.