She's Only 3

She looks so grown-up today on her first ever day of school in her swirly pink skirt and those marvelous pink shoes and the matching socks with the charms. But she's only 3.

She sauntered into her classroom like she'd been doing it so long it was time to submit her thesis. But she's only 3.

She can spell her name and Dora's, count to ten in Spanish and draw self-portraits that include her Shirley Temple ringlets. But she's only 3.

Her vocabulary is filled with words like "definitely" and "fabulous". She calls her younger sister "honey" as she lectures on the finer points of things like capping the markers so they don't dry out. But she's only 3.

She maps out each day with the precision of a drill sergeant allocating time for activities such as "breakfast", "cutting", "watching Diego" and "eating supper at a restaurant like McNally's." But she's only 3.

Wherever we go people engage her in conversation and remark that she's so tall you would think she was 5. But she's only 3.

She drags around her battered Bear everywhere she goes. He's been washed so many times he has faded from pink to gray but she won't voluntarily surrender him for a spin on the delicate cycle since she is sure he doesn't like baths. Today he waited patiently in her car seat while she was at school. He was rewarded with a hug and a kiss. Because she's only 3.

I hope to freeze in my mind forever the events of this first day of school. I want to remember how she looked, how she acted, what she said and how she felt. Because she's only 3.

But not for long.