THREE

This morning, I laid in Elijah’s bed/closet attempting to steal one minute of sleep. Eli was nude, still a little wet from weeing all over himself, and repeatedly shooting me in the face with his finger, doubling as a laser gun.

I hugged him tight and as he shot and squirmed I thought to myself, “I love you. Happy birthday.” I couldn’t utter the words aloud because, like every year, we lied to him and said his birthday was last Saturday, the day of his official party.

So I just kept hugging him and hugging him, basking in the joy of being shot in the face, while I recounted the last year of his life.

His constant and hilarious nudity. His epic tantrums. His enthusiastic, but off key singing. His crazy delight at the water park. His vomiting at said water park. His painfully cute first day of school. Curious George. Curious George. Curious George. His gleeful cries of “I love you!” That time he stabbed our TV. His inexplicable acceptance of Luca. His addiction to jelly beans. His burgeoning love of Star Wars.

Did I mention the joy? The utter, blinding joy? The all encompassing joy he beings to Diana and I? We are so damned lucky to have this kid.

Eli, you’ll probably read this entry years from now. Maybe you’ll wonder what you were like when you turned three. Well, when you turned three you shot your dad in the face and made him the happiest man on Earth.

Future Eli, enjoy these photos from last Saturday, your fake birthday. Where our friends and family got to spend just a few hours experiencing the joy we feel every day. This is what you do, future Eli. You give joy.