one, two, three.

I didn't believe until this past week that Rowan was anywhere close to turning three years old. We were on vacation (more on that soon), and J.J. and I couldn't stop staring at her and saying to each other, "She's so big. She's so old." And she really is. This summer is washing away any traces of toddlerhood and replacing my girl with a big, capable, independent preschooler.

I mean, she's still little. She still needs prophylactic Band-Aids and hugs during nighttime thunderstorms and me to rock her to sleep for naps. But? She swims by herself underwater and jumps off the diving board. She refuses booster seats at restaurants. She basically potty trained herself in the spring (I don't know which gods I pleased to receive that blessing). She's ready to start no-parent gymnastics and actual preschool.

This summer, Rowan spent her first nights away from home, including a sleepover at Gramma's. She had her first Bomb Pop, toasted her first s'more, and saw her first movie in the theater - Finding Dory.

She'll only climb down the stairs all by herSELF, thank you very much. Lord help you if you try to assist, despite the fact that each stair takes approximately forty-eight seconds to descend.

She's getting increasingly skilled at bedtime stall tactics, including calling for me repeatedly and then, when I finally relent and check on her, snuggling into my neck and telling me, "I'll be your daughter forever, okay? Even when I'm a grown-up." Then she'll pause and add, "But I won't be your girl forever. Because I'll be a grown-up!"

Not too long ago, Rowan was playing in our guest room/office and told me she wanted it to be her big girl room. Good idea, kid, because that was my plan, too. She wants to help me paint it her favorite colors: yellow and pink (so pretty much the opposite of her nursery color scheme of blue, green, and gray, and about as anti-Peggy Orenstein as possible). She crawled into my lap tonight while I was pinning big girl room ideas and started pointing out all her favorite things - rainbows, stripes, canopies.

She figures she can sleep in her big girl room, and her baby can sleep in "the little kid room." Never mind that there is no imminent baby in our life; Rowan already knows exactly what her little sister (she's very specific) will like to read, eat, and play. She talks about being a big sister constantly. We were at Babies 'R' Us the other day, and she dashed from crib to mobile to blanket exclaiming, "My baby wants THIS! My baby LOVES this!" She found a stuffed giraffe on a shelf and snatched it up, cooing, "Ooh, my baby would looove to snuggle this giraffe!"

This is the girl who's already in love with her preschool teacher, who sings dozens of songs by heart, who loves somersaults and swinging by herself (she tells me to walk away and have "alone time"...um yes please). She likes to plink on the piano and play "sad songs" (slow music) and "happy songs" (fast music), and she instructs me to dance slowly or quickly, accordingly.

Her daddy is her best buddy.

She tries to catch us at the bottom of the slide.

She makes up words and jokes and songs and is thrilled when she makes us laugh.

She loves to play outside, to play pretend, to play with friends, to play with her cousins. She's brave and empathic. She wants a cake that looks like our next-door neighbors' house for her birthday. She's been saying since February that she wants to be a ghost for Halloween. She's just the very best thing I know of, even when she's being the worst.

I'm psyched to start planning her big girl room - it's been forever since we've done anything new and exciting to the house. But am I psyched to have a big girl? Let me put it this way: I never knew the word bittersweet could resonate so sharply until I watched my baby grow bigger and grow away from me. She wanted to try something this past weekend - I can't even remember what now - and we told her no, that it was only for big kids. She perked up and said, "But this kid is big!" True, true. 

Almost three.

(Also? I swear, every time I start writing one of these super-sappy I love my sweet baby posts at 7:30 after I put her in bed for the night, she ends up being awake past 9:00, singing and playing and calling for us until we're ready to burn her stuffed friends to ashes. Gotta love the extremes of parenting. GO TO SLEEP.)