Today you are forty one months old.

On Thursday at the Farmer's Market you sat down, completely voluntarily, and asked to participate in the craft project. It's one of those evening markets with music and balloon animals and craft crap. This sort of stuff drives me batty since I think the amazing bounty of food should be enough, but I'll permit this market its distractions since it's in the evening and meant more for families than shoppers. Besides, the produce on hand could barely make a dinner, so it might as well have something else to offer.

But I digress.

You sat yourself down at a table, tolerated the instructions from the woman in charge, used glue, drew with a crayon, crumpled up some paper, and allowed that same, strange woman to wrap a twist tie around your bag, turning it into an octopus. It was awesome.

No, the octopus was not awesome. It was a paper bag with googly eyes.

You. You are awesome. Four weeks ago you wound't have dared try the craft table out. You may have been curious, but you wouldn't have touched it with a ten foot pole.

You have made tremendous progress in a short amount of time. I expected you to rapidly grow over these next six months before your fourth birthday, but the change has been exponential. And you've had the tantrums and regressions to show for it, sure, but in some ways you are a different kid.

The other day you painted a picture and I cooed, "Oh, wow, what is it?" And the reply? "A picture of Papa's feelings."

Yes, kiddo, you've been in therapy for a month now, but I'd say it's working. Even if you're projecting in paintings.

So, this is what you have to look forward to, someday, as a parent: Paper Octopi. It's a good thing.

Happy Forty First Monthday.