I didn't realize until today how differently you're treated because you are the third child. What a treat it was for me to go to Starbucks today with daddy and you, just you. Instead of carrying you into the store because I had other little hands to hold and kids to keep track of I let you walk, tightly grasping my finger, confidently strutting yourself through the door and to a table. Instead of strapping you into a high chair because it would be less distracting than having you climbing everywhere, I sat you in a regular chair, next to the window where you could get your little greasy fingers all over pointing at buses, trucks, and trains. You seemed to be loving every minute of the undivided attention daddy and I were able to give you, and you hammed it up with us and all of the onlookers around us. I can imagine that they were thinking what a cute little family we were, doting on our first child like he was the most important thing in the world. I wish it could be like that more often, I hate having to schlep you to Cameron and Gavin's activities, strapped into a stroller and expecting you to be quiet and perfect, which, by the way, you usually are. I hate dividing my attention with you and your brothers, hoping to make everyone feel equal and like they have all had their turn with mom. I hate that I rarely get down and play with just you, puzzles and blocks and board books. It seems like you have been pushed to watch older kid movies, read older kid books and play with older-kid toys because that's what your brothers are doing. An old friend shared a sentiment that I share completely- I wish I could raise each of my kids separately and individually, one at a time. I want you to know that I'm going to try harder to do baby things just with my baby and make the time to have you all to myself.