His Strength, My Journey

Raising a three-year-old boy is like living in a never-ending action movie—one where the main character never runs out of energy, never stops talking, and somehow knows exactly how to push every single one of your buttons while also making you fall in love with him all over again. My days at home with him feel like a mix between a wrestling match and bungee jumping. One minute, he’s launching himself off the couch like a superhero, and the next, he’s arguing with me like a seasoned lawyer about why he should be allowed to eat cookies for breakfast. He is ridiculously smart, knows exactly how to manipulate situations to his advantage, and has perfected the art of selective hearing. “Don’t touch that.” Touches it anyway. “Please put your shoes on.” Suddenly forgets how shoes work. “Time for bed.” Cue Oscar-worthy meltdown. But then, just when I think I’m about to lose my mind, he’ll come running up with those big blue eyes, throw his arms around my neck, and say, “I love you, Mommy.” And...