Four.

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Oh, my sweet son, I am so so sorry this is almost 5 months late.  Chalk it up to good old-fashioned pregnancy procrastination, and we’ll be more timely with the next one.  In fact, I’ll just get started now, that should make me actually post on time when the next birthday comes around.

Beez, you are Four.  You are well into the age of Four at this point, in fact.  This makes me both sad and yet very very happy, because with the end of the age of Three also came the end of those epic tantrums that the Twos and Threes are well known for.

I gave you an interview this year on your birthday, as a way to switch things up. Wrote it down on a piece of (random, scrap) paper and everything, like a real reporter, you were so excited. Totally planned to post it in your annual birthday blog post.  And then, I promptly lost the damn thing.  So much for that idea.   I did it mostly because I felt you were too old for the mushy baby, count-the-milestone yearly updates I have been giving.  So what to do?

Let me be short and sweet.  From ages Three to Four, you were so entertaining and happy and funny and smart.  For every meltdown, we got a week’s worth of good entertainment and fun times, and I’m so thankful for that. You still loved trains and kitties but added Superheroes, Transformers, and Muscle Cars to your ever-growing list of obsessions.  You are super curious about all sorts of things (how do trees grow, where do lions live, what does my blood do?).  And sometimes I get sad when I think about you growing up, just because there are so many things I will miss. When will the kitties get kicked out of his bed and buried at the bottom of the closet?  When will he start to scoff that floppy puppy-dog little boy haircut I love so much?  When will I stop being his best friend in the entire universe?

Right now we are so close still, that mommy/baby bond, most times I feel like I can read your mind. I start out the day climbing into your bed and talking you awake, just five minutes of you and I curled up and whispering about the day ahead. We talk while we water the plants and walk to the park and clean your room, and my absolute very favorite – our conversations in the car on the way to and from school.  You tell me every little bit of your day, the good and bad, excitement and fears, even when you’ve done something wretched at school and had to sit at the Thinking Chair.

Go ahead and grow up, Peter, but don’t let those car conversations stop. I know there will come a point when that will be the last thing you want to do, tell your lame old MOTHER about EVERY MOMENT OF YOUR FREAKING DAY, but humor me, please.  And in the meantime I will continue to hold dear the way you run to me at the end of the school day, put your hands on my cheeks to get my full attention, and tell me how very much you missed me today.

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I was prepping the annual video and you know what?  I came to the realization that 90% of the video of you from the past year involves you dancing.  Weirdo.  So I just mushed them all together in a video and I think it pretty much defines that year.

Happy Four, baby.  See you at Five.

Also see: One, Two, Three.

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