Tomorrow, my baby boy turns 3 years old. Used to be time went by like you were waiting for a pot of water to boil; ever since we had the kids life goes by like you're on the Expressway doing 105 mph and you can't wait until you get to the next exit.
Yeah, he's still peeing in his pants and banging his head into the wall like the kid from "Parenthood" for no good reason, but he's growing up. He speaks in full sentences (almost), occasionally remembers to let you know he needs to go poop, and can eat an ice pop and MOST of it ends up in his mouth.
He's obsessed with Mickey Mouse, loves when you read to him, and asks me everyday when "ball game" is coming on again. He's now 3 going on 13 and I'm looking for Doc Brown and his time machine so I can go back 3 years ago and make it all slow down.
One day he's the size of a football and sleeping on my chest and the next he's strutting around the house wearing nothing but a smile and singing the theme song from "The Backyardigans" at the top of his lungs. Before I turn around he'll be in kindergarten, Rakes will be in 3rd grade and Ciera will be a freshman in High School.
I've only got one question; why does it seem like it takes so long to get to the point where you are happy and content and raising a family and once you get there it goes by in the blink of an eye?
At least I've got the Red Sox.
Happy Birthday, Trot Matthew.
Your Dad loves you more than you'll ever know.
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