Yesterday I learned that my 3-year-old can effortlessly recognize the numbers 0 through 9 (at least). I was reading Junie B. Jones (is not a Beauty Shop Guy) and stopped, reaching for a bookmark. My sparkly-eyed little E pulled away from our snuggle and said, “Mama, don’t stop at chapter 7!” I was not surprised that she didn’t want me to stop reading. My children never want me to stop reading. But how is it that she knew the 7? After a quick, random, quiz-like exchange it was clear that E obviously knew all of the chapter numbers. At this point my 6-year-old daughter, who’d chosen the Junie B. book for bedtime reading, shared that she and E have been playing school on a regular basis. And that she’s been teaching E to “read.” Indeed, a demonstration ensued that confirmed that E can sight read a few key words. (Mommy, Daddy, wow, and the names of all family members.)

Endearing? Yes. But I can’t stop asking myself, how did this happen without my being fully conscious of it? This learning. This progress. These “school” sessions that led to developmental milestones that neither of my older two children had conquered before entering kindergarten. 

My third child is bright and full of moxie. She is curious and quick and smart and oh-so-hysterically funny. She is the spirit of our entire family, all wrapped up into a ball of smiles and winks and just pure energy. Also? She is growing up. She is learning fast and furiously, both to catch up with her older siblings and to keep up with her older siblings. On one level, I think I expected this. She’s the youngest. For her, there’s knowledge, experiences, opportunity coming at her from every direction. So much more so than with my first child or even my second. E, in her energy and fearlessness, grabs on to everything she hears, makes it her own and then moves on. And she does it all with such confidence and nonchalance that sometimes the achievement isn’t even celebrated. 

I have to think so much harder to remember the specifics of E’s developmental milestones (time of birth, when she walked unassisted, her first words, etc.). It’s not that these moments are less important than they were for my first two children, it’s just that there was so much else going on at the time. Since the moment she came into this world, E has been one of three children. She knows no other reality. And I’m nearly convinced that since the moment she came into this world, she has taught me more than I have taught her. Because those first years of teaching, when so much of the learning happens at home, haven’t been filled by just me (and her dad). They’ve been filled by a truck-loving, musician of a brother who takes pride in looking out for his “baby” sister. They’ve been filled by a sweet, sensitive, quietly fierce and amazingly artistic sister who shares her own view of the world while letting E claim her (nearly completely opposite) views on most things.

For my daughter who still has baby cheeks and speaks in the endearing way a child who can’t yet pronounce the letter “K” does, her every waking moment is overflowing with the opportunity to take in information about the world. To assess and make sense of things in her own way. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, she shares with me these accomplishments. Sometimes, as in the case of the number identification, I stumble upon the knowledge long after the learning has begun. But what she continues to teach me daily is that I should always be open to learning something new, because there is endless knowledge there for the taking. And that I should really not be surprised so often, especially by her. Because this child is capable and determined and ready to take on the world. And she’s surely going to conquer things much more groundbreaking than the numbers 1 through 10. 

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Originally published in August 2012