So, you’re five.
Saying it sounds weird.
I watched you playing a game with your older brother today and realized something: You don’t look little anymore. I mean, you’re still a little boy — but you look like an itty-bitty little boy. Not a toddler or a baby. You look like you might very well be five years old. And you are.
You have been so very… you… this year. That’s the only way to describe it. While you look exactly like your Daddy and have bits and pieces of his personality, I can most assuredly say that you are you. The way you look at things and do things and feel; you’re just you. I don’t think you’ve ever felt the pressure to be a way you didn’t want to be or be someone you didn’t want to be. I hope you keep that with you throughout your life… that innate ability to just be yourself. It’s one of my very favorite YOU qualities.
Of course, loving the you that you are means accepting that every other sentence is a poop joke. Or, if not a poop oriented joke, a joke in general. You’re a comedian. You make me laugh so hard sometimes. It’s not even always with your words. It’s a look. Or a gesture. Or an eyebrow raise. Or a noise. Or whatever you feel like doing to make someone laugh. And oh, your laugh. It’s infectious. My heart just fills to the brim with joy when you laugh. To see the process is even better: the way your eyes gleam and your nose crinkles and your whole body just moves with your laugh. I love it. All.
I do feel like I owe you an apology. After working so hard teaching your brother to read, you seemingly taught yourself how to read. I feel guilty that we didn’t work so hard with you, but I love that you read me everything in sight. Signs, billboards, inappropriate bumper stickers. I may not have worked hard with you, but I hope to keep helping you learn to love to read this coming year.
Would you believe that you didn’t end up left handed? Me either! Your writing is developing so well now that you’ve picked a hand. And every week when you color in church, your pictures are just amazing. I love when you draw me things — like that picture of the dog. Speaking of whom, it makes me so happy to hear you say things like, “Callie is the best dog ever.” I’m glad you finally got the dog you’ve been asking for since you were two. She thinks you’re awesome too, Booey.
We saw your temper develop this year, but I know you’re working on it. Just know that we will always love you, even when you stomp your foot and tell us that it’s not fair. (Sometimes? It’s not fair.)
Five years ago, I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to handle being a mom to two little boys. I didn’t know what to expect.
I still don’t know what to expect. You keep me on my toes. You keep me guessing. You are a loving, laughing little spitfire and this family wouldn’t be the same without you.
I’m so blessed to be your Mommy. I’m so excited to see what you do and who you become this year.