On the day you were born it was hot, much like today. It was sunny, too. You were scheduled for an induction because I was tired being pregnant, so I figured washing your Auntie’s car would be the smartest thing to do to speed along the process.
Apparently you don’t like being told what to do, and you were born just before 10 that night while hockey playoffs were on the tv in the background. One minute I was commenting how Detroit scored, next minute you were here.
No, seriously. That’s how fast you were born.
You had a pretty busy year, Luca. You almost got swept away by a rogue wave at the beach. You had to share your once peaceful bedroom with Mae-Mae the destroyer. You discovered Legos. You put up with me for a year.
From the stories I’ve heard about your dad when he was little, you’re proving to be just like him. I take that as both good and bad. Good in that, well, I loved him enough to marry him. He’s a really good guy, your dad. But with that comes the childhood daddy that packed a bag in preparation to run away and would choose to be alone over hanging out with his family.
That’s you. I’m 90% positive that at some point you’re going to look around at your surroundings (read: your sisters) and just say, “Peace out, homies,” and walk down the street with a stick and sheet tied to it.
Not that I’d blame you, kid, but I’d kind of miss you. So please don’t be doing that. You can run away to the basement. That’s cool with me.
I love that you’re a self-entertainer. Right now, as I type up your birthday blog, you’re playing with Legos and are enjoying every second. Your imagination is one of your best assets. You’re smart. I don’t mean that in a, you can read all kinds of things and math is your favorite! No. I mean it in a you get
it. You get what the big picture is, for a four year old. You have all kinds of common sense and it’s kind of incredible. You are a naturally born smooth boy, Luca. You know what you’re good at and you use it to your best ability. You know that you’re small and maybe not as fast as Claire, but you know the shortcut to catch up with her.
It’s kind of impressive how you adapt.
Claire is still your best friend.
You’re still unsure of Mae.
You absolutely adore Audrey.
You’re a good boy, Luca. And you’re stuck in a house full of girls. You’ve got many years ahead of you filled with scraped knees, books to read, stories to make up and boys to beat up for your sisters.
One thing I can say for certain is that I love you just as much as the day you were born. Your blue eyes, your thumb sucking, your magazines, your SUPER LOUD VOICE, are all who you are.
And I wouldn’t change a thing.
I know sometimes you feel left out. And there are times where you can only do what your big sister does. And sometimes I don’t listen to you when you tell me the same story for the fiftieth time. And even more so, sometimes you hate being so little.
But someday you’re going to grow tall, Luca. You’re going to find something that you love to do. You. Not just Claire. And that story that you tell me will be an original.
Today you turn four. And I’m not even questioning where the time has gone. I know where it went. It went to the zoo, the science center, the park, the North Shore, train tracks, Oakmont Bakery, the gym, the beach, the woods, streams, creeks, rivers, Pirates games and the sprinkler park. Time may feel like it’s going quickly, but on days like today, where we spend endless hours building Legos, I’m OK with the fact that you’re getting bigger. You’re actually really fun to hang out with.
I love you, little buddy. I’m so glad today is your day.