She remained so quiet, I heard nothing over the baby monitor, surely she was indulging in her afternoon nap like a good little toddler. The nap that was recommended by our pediatrician who stressed the importance of a toddler sleeping until the age of three. She turns three next month. Which means this month, by golly, she's napping because that's what the doctor ordered.

"I wook like a teenager, Mama." She appeared in the kitchen twenty minutes into her "nap."

"A teenager?"

"Yesh. I wook like teenager, wif dis chop stick."

"It's not chapstick, Fifi. It's mommy's special long-lasting lip gloss."

The word teenager made it into her vocabulary because Dora, Sesame Street and The Wonder Pets (which occupied the older two children for all those years while I prepared nightly dinners) has now been replaced by The Wizards of Waverly Place, Hannah Montana, and America's Funniest Videos in the background while she plays with her ponies. Tis the life of the third child who is exposed to everything too soon by accident.  Like crunchy peanut butter and high fructose drinks.

"Knock. Knock."

"Who's there?"

"P. P. I said pee-pee!" She throws herself onto the couch and giggles uncontrollably.

"That's not funny, Fifi."

"Let me tell you some-fing, Mama. It's funny to me."

"How old are you?"

"Five."

"NO. You are two. Almost three. One, two, and almost three." I held her pinkie and thumb down, to show her three toddler fingers stained from our finger painting earlier that morning.

"No. I five."

And so it begins, just like that, we flip to another chapter.  The one entitled "Apparently three five year olds don't nap."  One in which the third child triumphs over me (again) eager to start a new phase.  I. Am. Not. Ready.  In the meantime "let me tell you some-fing," I'm thinking I should replace some of our craft-time with Noggin TV time to teach her how to act three.

The first "And so it, begins" was published two years ago in January.  Waaaa.... hold me. Please?