Our youngest turned three on Monday. We celebrated in grand fashion on the weekend with the guests wearing whiskers and some bringing their pussycat toys. We had a pussycat cake, party food and playing with friends.
Lincoln had a great time. He was delighted to see his best little friend from his old preschool and was thrilled to have everyone singing “happy birthday” to him.
My, how that time has flown. He’s a delightful boy. Expressive, caring, imaginative. He enjoys playing with lego, his motorbike toys and dressing up. He still enjoys a nap, isn’t toilet trained yet and sleeps with his teddies.
Three was a difficult age with Fraser. He was becoming independent and wanted me to know that. Only two months in I was counting down to when he’d turn four and become that little bit more reasonable. Over the last few years I’ve forgotten all but one mortifying tantrum, so I’m really just left with the general impression of three being a terrifying age for a parent.
I’m fairly positive we’ll emerge from the next 12 months with our self-respect intact.
Happy 3rd Birthday Lincoln.