When You’re Three

Bubby turned three. Which means we’ve known him now for three whole years. Three whole fun, adventurous, loud, beautiful years.
So far, he’s had two birthday parties. One at his Aunt Gee-Gee’s house and one at his Pa-Nanny’s house.
We’ll have another for him when we get back home, at his Grandpa Denny’s house. That will be three whole birthday celebrations. And then we’ll be done for a while. Which is a good thing, because I don’t know how much more balloon blowin’ a kid can take.
Did you know it’s hard to blow up balloons when you’re three?
In fact, it’s practically impossible.
You can blow, 
and you can blow, 
and you can even cross your eyes and blow, but it may not get you anything but a dizzy spell and a headache. 
So, you should probably leave the balloon blowin’ to the grown-ups and focus on the candles. 
But, then again, did you know it’s hard to blow out candles when you’re three?
You can huff…
And you can puff…
And you can recruit some help…
and huff…
and puff…
But, it may not get you anything but a bunch of slobber on your birthday cake and one annoying candle that just won’t shut off.
So, you might as well leave the candle blowin’ to the grown-ups…
after one last huff-n-puff…
and just eat the cake. 
Eat all the cake. 
Don’t even worry about who’s lookin.
Or what your hair looks like. Or what your shirt looks like. 
Just do some lickin’ and some smackin’…
and some crunchin’ and some munchin’ cause it’s your birfday.
And you’re three.
And you only get to be three once.

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