While climbing the three flights of stairs up to the gym, you proclaimed that all the stairs were made of lava and you had to freeze them so we could climb. Half way up, someone started walking down and you told them they had to stop and wait for you to freeze the stairs so they’d be safe, and not only did the person stop, but they smiled.
Good thing for patient people.
Things you like include coloring, puppies, kitties, superheroes, glitter glue, your new birthday flamingo shoes, and sucking your thumb with your blanket.
Things you don’t like is when I brush your hair, when you rip a paper trying to get it out of the coloring book, eating most foods, and when I clip you into your car seat.
For Christmas you had asked Santa to bring you a puppy costume. You then proceeded to wear it every day for at least a month. Currently it has a small hole along the zipper line, so you don’t wear it as often, because you’re afraid someone will see your undies. I tried to sew it once, but clearly it didn’t hold well enough, so I may have to break out a professional. You still wear it 4/7 days a week, if not more, and your teacher doesn’t think it’s borderline obsessive yet. Apparently you’re still in the cute phase.
But now you’re four and even though you’d cry the first few days after your birthday when someone would say you’re four, I think you’re accepting of it now.
Going back to the list of things you like, you put glitter glue on Lucy. Now, I wasn’t here to witness it, but from I hear, it was somewhat intentional. While she looks fabulous and glittery, she didn’t really like me having to brush it out of her fur after it dried. She got peanut butter, you got a talking to, everyone wins.
At the gym in Fox Chapel, you like the big, tall front desk guy. A few weeks ago, he said you gave him hair care tips, which made us both laugh, because he’s bald. You ask which gym we’re going to by asking which daycare person will be there. I don’t know if I should be proud of that or not, but mama loves to work, and you get to watch movies and play with other kids and make tons of friends instead of sit at home with just me, so I think it’s a good thing.
There are days when I look at you and realize for a split second that you weren’t even supposed to be a thing. Now that I know what I’d be missing out on, I’m glad you’re here. You’re smart, and funny, and you haven’t cut your hair with your safety scissors yet, so it’s long and fun to braid…when you let me. You’re stubborn and loud and love to be read to. You still roll your ankles around when you’re concentrating hard on something, or wiggle your toes. Plus you like to talk and sing to yourself.
I hope that you keep going the way you’re going. You stand up for yourself, but aren’t cruel. You’re always making sure you’re heard and most days is the one who actually does what I ask before I have to yell. You’re my four year old miracle.
You will probably always be the biggest surprise of my lifetime, and I’m okay with that.
I remember when you were born, my doctor handed you to me, right away – all gooey and sticky, and I cried. I cried, and cried, and cried. And when the nurse went to take you after a minute, my doctor stopped her and said, “This is her last baby. It was a hard win. Let her enjoy the moment.”
So I held you for what felt like forever, and I even think your dad cried a little, too. If only I had known in the moment the stick gave me two lines, how good life would be this very moment…but I do now, and I’m forever grateful that you’re mine. Happy (belated) birthday.