Yesterday I read The Sleigh That Took My Sister at Barnes & Noble, signed books, hugged babies, smiled till my cheeks hurt… and then immediately came home and started decorating for Christmas like the North Pole had sent me a personal email saying I was behind.

Now it’s 4:30 a.m., and I’m awake again, trying to get myself together for another event. And somewhere between the garland, the glitter, and the third cup of coffee, something settled in my chest:

I forgot how exhausting three-year-olds are.

Not forgot like misplaced my keys.

Forgot like my brain deliberately deleted the file for my own survival.

Harper is a lot. And I say that with a love so big it could power the Griswold house.

She’s sweet and curious and helpful in that three-year-old way where “helpful” means pouring water on the counter to “wash the counter.”

She makes messes on purpose just to test gravity… and my sanity.

One minute she’s happily independent, and the next she’s dramatically unable to bend over and grab her headphones because her legs hurt, her stomach hurts, and also she’s “too tired to live.”

Meanwhile, Lynnlee at that age?

My 2E child?

She was… chill.

Coloring, iPad, math worksheets for fun, snuggled movies.

If you told her “Don’t eat the candy,” you could leave her alone with a Costco-sized bag and she’d guard it like Fort Knox.

Same house. Same mom. Two completely different energies.

And yet my memory?

It’s magic.

I can vividly recall the happiest moments with my older kids the little things that stitched our lives together.

Watching Friends on VHS with Jacob on repeat when it was just the two of us.

Playing Rock Band with all the littles until the plastic drumsticks snapped.

Dancing in the living room.

Late-night talks.

Inside jokes.

Big belly laughs.

But the tantrums?

The meltdowns?

The co-dependent independence?

The “I’m thirsty but not for that cup” chaos?

Gone.

Like my brain said, “Nope. We’re not keeping that. You’ll break.”

Sure, every now and then something pulls a memory loose 

Jacob and the cheese spoon (story coming soon),

Hailey and Justin and their… adventures (oh, we’ll get there) 

but if you sat me down right now and asked me to paint you a picture of the exhausting toddler years?

I couldn’t.

Not really.

And maybe that’s grace.

Maybe motherhood is designed that way, 

so when the next tiny hurricane blows through your living room wearing Christmas pajamas and yelling for snacks at 5 a.m.,

you don’t think about how hard it is.

You think about how precious it is.

How quickly it goes.

How one day you’ll look back and only remember the magic…

and not the mess.

So today, I’m giving thanks for my selective memory.

For a brain that chooses love over chaos.

For a heart that forgets the tantrums but holds on tight to the laughter.

And for a three-year-old named Harper who is reminding me, daily,

that this stage is hard

and beautiful

and fleeting

and worth every exhausted, coffee-fueled second.