I wish somebody had warned me that turning four was such a momentous year. From the day you turned four, everything has apparently changed. All the things that you were limited by just a few days ago are now things that you've outgrown.
For reference, I give you our conversations today:
You were using the restroom, informing me that "I'm going to wash my hands when I'm done. But I don't need to use that stool. I needed that when I was three. I'm four now. I don't need the stool." *Note: this is the same stool that just a month ago you were thrilled to be using....
Later, as we drove home from your ballet class, you were calling out "Spot!" at the yellow cars you saw. Now, just a few weeks ago, you would Spot yellow cars, but you also liked to spot playgrounds. As we passed the playground at a church, I called out, "Look, Spot the playground."
"Mommy," you stated, your voice as full of patient exasperation as it is possible for a four year old to have. "I don't spot playgrounds anymore. I did that when I was three. Now I'm four. I only Spot yellow cars." (If you eight years older, you would have rolled your eyes at me.)
Sigh. I can't keep up.
