let them be little.

I have found myself giving up on the fact that I cannot force Noah to use the potty. He is his own person, and even though he loves his red underwear with cars and trains on them he won't keep them on for too long. He is three years old, and I have come to the conclusion that he may be in diapers for a lot while longer, and I'm not going to stress on this.

He has the concept of knowing why there is a toilet in the bathroom, but he still won't sit on it. I'm sure he'll eventually get the picture.

I'm not going to force or beg him to use the potty. He is a petite little boy, and I don't mind the size four diapers...for now.

Aside from the difficult potty training, and constant diaper changing, I find him constantly setting his trains on the piano. Whether they are on the piano or train track it makes no difference to me as long as he is content and having fun. 

In between the daily potty training struggle, and the playing of trains on the piano he'll approach me with those big dark eyes, and ask me if he can have a banana or an apple. I look at him and am amazed with his politeness in asking me if its okay to eat a piece of fruit. I'm sure he hears me telling his sisters to rash and limit on the fruit because it's not cheap.

He'll later then tell me that he's hungry, and he'll direct me to the pantry door with childproof locks saying, "c'mon mom, c'mon." I open it and then he'll point at the tapioca pudding, honey bunches of oat cereal, and cheetos.

I allow him to choose just one, okay two...okay he actually had all three. Exactly in that order. Pudding, cereal, and cheetos.

I remember when my firstborn ate cheetos for the first time I got so upset because she got all her clothes dirty. I don't even recall if she ever asked for a napkin. Noah will almost always asks for a wipe, and instead of using it in on his hands I'll find out later that he used it to clean the couch where he wiped his fingers on.

When I realized what he was doing I couldn't help but to laugh. Not that it's okay to wipe dirty hands on anything, but the fact that he was cleaning pleased me. I also know that my patience with kids getting dirty has gotten better, and I don't get mad anymore. I know that this is my domain, and as a mother I get to choose whether or not it's okay to make messes, and I choose-okay. 

The feeling I get looking at my little boy making all kinds of messes such as finding crumbs tucked in the couch, spilt milk, and dried up cereal on the floor doesn't matter to me anymore. I remember when he did that for the first time when he was a little over one years old, and I didn't mind.

I have to give credit to my mom for being a woman of cleanliness. I learned from her to be clean, and that mopping, scrubbing, and sweeping is a form of therapy (and very good exercise.)

I also had to teach myself that as a mother raising a boy, having messes is okay too.

I never had a chance to be little and want Noah to experience all the different types of mess, and fun there is out there. Whether it's putting rocks inside his red coat while playing in the park, splashing in puddles without rain boots, playing with dirt, disassembling his train track with toys all scattered around, I just want him to experience all kinds of happy!

He is my only boy right now, and I am going to let him be little for as long as he wants.