Month forty-four

Oh June,
I think I stopped being so diligent about writing these letters because I jinxed your behavior by doing so. The last week or so you have developed an enormous amount of sass. Where I think sometimes it would be cute, maybe if it happened every so often, or wasn't directed towards me 100% of the time. But it's not so cute. You are kind of a brat. You will walk up to me and with that indigent 3 year old look and say "Mom, I heard you say you hate red peppers. You DO NOT say the word hate. OK? I don't ever want to hear you say it again." Then you flip your hair and walk away. I'm certain I have never told you not to say the word hate. But you have a lot of authoritative figures in your life, so I'm sure somewhere someone said it wasn't a nice word and you took it and ran with it. You have now started to obsess on a few thing, mostly conversations. There is no changing the subject to something else as a means to distract you. I'm sure most 3 year olds ask "Why" a hundred times over, so I should just get used to it. But really, sometimes there isn't a reason why, sometimes it just is. Sometimes after a long day, I'm tempted to just hand you the computer and say, "Ask Google Why, because I just don't know." But I'm sure you would ask "Why should I ask google?" My darling daughter, you are exhausting.

 Stella, here is the thing, I've been meaning to talk to you about a few things. I know you are all girl. You brush your hair and want your fingernails painted. You need things to match, and basically you are a mini me. Which is cute. Because you really do look a lot like me, and act like me. But well, you have got to stop changing your clothes ten times a day. As my mother once told me, I don't need practice doing the laundry. I'm pretty good at it. I don't need to add your 5 different outfits a day to the laundry. Although I am just grateful that you let me pick out the clothes that go in your drawer, meaning I can ultimately coordinate your wardrobe so it's not super ridiculous. Little girl, I fear your teenage years.
I didn't feel very well last week and you were so sweet to help me get better. You made sure I had a blanket, and you rubbed my tummy and read me a story. You wouldn't leave my side. I didn't really want you to. You were sweet and kind and hoovering like a mother hen. You do that to anyone who doesn't feel well. If Ruby gets an bump on the head or is grumpy, you are certain to take care of her. Even if the one thing she really wants is to be left alone, you take care of her. You told me last week that you wanted to be a vetrinarian when you grow up so you can take care of animals like Aunt Colly; but maybe if the kitties you take care of scratch you, you will decide to be a kid doctor so you can take care of kids with band aids, shots and suckers. June, I think you are one of those kids who is going to be a vet or a pediatrician. You are sweet natured, intense, kind, brilliant, driven, and very determined.

Whatever you want to be when you grow up, you will be amazing at it.
I love you June Bug.
love love
mom