Three

Today my baby turned three. We made a dinosaur cake (okay, Harris Teeter made a dinosaur cake and I picked it up), lit three candles, and watched him make the most important wish of his life so far.

Three

He blew out those candles and immediately announced his wish to the room: “I want a REAL dinosaur for my birthday!” Because three-year-olds don’t know about keeping wishes secret, or about extinction, or about the logistical nightmare of housing a Triceratops in suburban Apex.

I made my own wish while he was blowing out his candles. Something simpler than a dinosaur, but maybe just as impossible: I wished for him to stay exactly this sweet, this excited about cake, this convinced that the world will give him everything he asks for. Because right now, in his world, it does. And I’m not ready for him to learn otherwise.

Three years old, and he still thinks dinosaurs might be possible. I hope he’s right.