Oh, to be three.

"It's a rough life, isn't it?"  I said to no one in particular since the only other person in the room was banging their head against the floor.  I ran around the house frantically closing windows, to muffle the cries, so that my neighbors didn't think I was abusing the children.

"I."  Sniffle.  "Need."  Shriek.  "A band-aid!"  Scream. "You said..."  Sniffle, shriek.  "My butt is cracked and now I need a band-aid."

"I said that your butt crack is showing in those pants and you need to find another pair that fits right." I sighed.  She's been dressing herself for the last eighteen months and I no longer have the patience that I once knew.  No longer tip toeing around word choices I often find myself in trouble these days with a three-year-old that takes everything literally.

"Why you say it again?  Why you say my butt is cracked?"  She dropped to the floor and turned her head, squirming to locate the damage.  "I no see the cracked butt.  I no see it, Mama."  Shriek, sniffle.

I did, what I had to do.  Le sigh.  I shamelessly dropped my yoga pants in the middle of the kitchen and pointed to my ass.  "This is mine."  I scooped her up and placed her before the mirror.  "And. This is yours."

"Yours is much bigger, Mama."  She giggled.

"You are goofy!"  I said, noting that she might need her vision checked soon.

"No.  I not Goofy."

"Yes, sweet girlfriend.  You are goofy."

"Then.  Then. Then you a Mickey Mouse."

Ouch.

Oh, to be three.

It's truly my most favorite age to experience as a mother, thus far.  Everyday brings an awesome (I say that loosely and very honestly) new language discovery that just tickles me.  I refuse to tell her that a "roly pokey" is actually a roly poly and that "polka nots" are really polka dots.  And I agree to drive to God's house when she wakes up from a late night thunderstorm in her "polka nots" bedroom where I comfort her by saying that sometimes he's loud when watering our newly planted "sunpower seeds" in the garden.  "They require lots of water to grow tall, you know."  I say.   "Then drive me to his house so I can tell him to zip it!"

Ouch.  Dealing with a three year old tickles me so much, it hurts.