Danny in Real Life

Clare has dominated the blog of late. It isn't so much that Danny doesn't do interesting things. He's three: almost everything he does is inherently interesting (and quite often irritating). It is, in fact, his very age that has captivated me of late.

For example, Danny and I played a round of Candy Land yesterday. This is remarkable only because it's only the second time we've ever played together (and actually followed the rules). As I pondered that, it quickly devolved into another mental note of "second child syndrome," because of course Clare and I played countless rounds when she was three. Which is how old she was when Danny was born. (When there's a new baby in the house, board games are a primary source of entertainment for a restless toddler.)

I find it somewhat incredible that we've hit the point where Danny is the same age that Clare was when he was born, because at that time it seemed virtually impossible that we would ever reach this age. Sometimes I marvel at how far he's come; other times I lament what a baby Clare really was while I was expecting her to be such a big girl.

Comparing the two of them at three is pretty consistent with how they are now, which is so different. Clare loved to recite Angelina books she had memorized, or dance what she believed were beautiful renditions of princess or Angelina-inspired ballets. Danny loves to dance, too, but in more of a funky chicken, make-you-laugh style that has me convinced he'll be gunning for the Class Clown title. Clare was/is eager to please and earn approval but, to put it mildly, "hugging impaired," while Danny is independently minded but quick to seek physical affection with a tight squeeze and sloppy kiss.

He's also fleet of tongue when it comes to telling me he loves me, or my favorite: "you're my sweet girl," which is likely the product of my frequently telling him that he's my sweet boy. And is he ever. He's quick-tempered and obstinate (I did mention that he's three); complains, when being reprimanded, "you're not being very nice to me"; and is fond of telling me, "you're driving me nuts!" Believe me, the feeling is quite often mutual! But when I go into his room in the mornings, even when I have to wake him up, he immediately reaches his arms around me and gives me the best, sweetest hug and a delighted smile, sometimes even thanking me for coming to get him. It's no wonder that he gets away with...a lot. I like to think I'm also wise enough to know this time around that three, like all other ages, flies by, and so far the ups outweigh the downs.

For posterity's sake, here's Clare at three, with three-day-old Danny. Where did either of those two babies go??