Today you are seven.
I am dumb-founded, overwhelmed with love, lost in a sea of memories and nostalgia. But today isn’t about me and how you’ve shaped and changed me as a human, a woman and a mother. No, today is about you and everything you are and do and hope and dream.
The clock read 7:15am as you stood by my bed this morning, big smile across your face. This is perhaps one change in your life in the past year: You sleep past seven-zero-zero on occasion, though rarely on a weekend. Your school schedule, sports, social life, hard play and other activities make you sleep even harder than you ever have in the past. Sometimes I have to wake you up for school at 7:30, especially on nights you decide to stay up and read after I have tucked you in. I rarely tell you no when you ask to do so; I want you to love to read. And you do.
What else have you done this year? You’ve learned to climb trees. You have taken on responsibility for pets here and there; it’s your job to uncover the birds every morning. I’ll never forget the morning you sat and read Phineas and Ferb jokes to them; you love all of your pets — all new to us in this last year of your life — so very much. Your heart is so big.
You learned how to ride your bike without training wheels! I hope Santa comes through for you and brings you that new bike you are asking him for; I bet you’ll be able to ride faster than me!
You tore up the soccer field. You played t-ball for the city team and ran harder than anyone else on the field. You always give your all when you’re playing a sport — or really, just playing at all. It’s a joy to watch you play, to watch you try so hard and accomplish what you set out to do. I am always so proud of you, even if you don’t make a goal. To be honest, I love to see you high five your teammates and tell them, “Good job!” Again, your heart. I love it.
You started a new school, started riding the bus and made student of the month. So much for our fears about the transition! You quite possibly inherited my talking and volume genes, but you are doing so well in school and you love it, your teacher and your friends. I wish that for you for many, many years to come.
Of course, one thing I keep returning to in this past year is your heart. It was especially evident last night when we went out to dinner and your little brother wasn’t feeling well. I went to sit with him in the car while you and Daddy finished your meals. I was, shall we say, hangry by the time we all got home with my food in a box. Perhaps I raised my voice trying to get in the door to eat. As I sat there, wolfing down my lukewarm enchiladas, you came up to me and said, “I’m sorry you didn’t get to eat at the restaurant, Mommy.” You care about others, even when they’re grumpy. I love that about you and others do too.
I don’t love that our socks are now the same size because I can’t tell them apart. You’re growing so fast! I know that’s a good thing, but my goodness, child! I can’t keep up!
I also don’t love the smart mouth that you sometimes use or when you dawdle as we’re trying to get out the door. But let’s face it, I have a smart mouth sometimes (…) and I almost always forget something when we’re trying to get out the door, so maybe we could work on those things together this year.
Today you are seven. Seven years ago I had no idea who you were going to be other than the chubby little baby in my arms with the big wide eyes and all that hair. Now, having known you for seven years, I have an inkling — however small — of who you’re going to be later in life. More over, I know who you are now, and I love that boy to pieces.
I wish you the best year you’ve had yet, my BigBrother Boy. I’m glad that I know you, love you, get to experience this next year with you. I’m glad that I’m your Mommy.
PS: This is the first birthday letter I’m letting you read on the blog. I hope you liked it!