Riley is three.
My baby is three.
The delicious 10 pounder with chubby cheeks who never cried when he was a baby is a full fledged toddler.
Passionate about backhoes, tractors, excavators, and the colour pink.
He's no longer My VBAC Baby, but rather a blonde boy with a buzz cut and a mind of his own.
Riley is three! He labouriously arranges his fingers to indicate his age, and then points them in your direction,
He is of course decidedly independent, with cries of "ME DO IT MINEHELF" ringing through the house day and night....three is the new two: I've always found three years old to be much more terrible than two years old, myself: the tantrums and cries for independence are louder, stronger, and longer. But Riley is a remarkably easy going kid, so even these are pretty calm as far as three year olds go. He's a good negotiator: "How about I brush mine teeth, then have lollipop? No? How about I brush mine teeth, you brush your teeth, and we both have lollipop?" This can go on ad infinitum.