Dear Son #2,
I have three boys that are all 20 months apart in age. They have more energy than a pack of Huskies who have been chugging Red Bulls all day, more attitude than a house full of teenagers without Internet, more mood changes than one of those Mood Rings in a mall candy dispenser and more daring, acrobatic stunts than the cast from Jackass—this is not for the faint of heart. After your younger brother was born, I prepared myself for the future. A future of precarious tree climbing, mud up to the eyeballs, wrestling matches, stitches, comparison of bodily parts, Band-Aids, overwhelming loudness, gross yet proudly displayed bodily functions, broken bones, and grunts in place of emotions. I prepared myself to be tough, strong and unyielding (mainly for my own safety and sanity).
What I didn’t prepare myself for was you.
You, the gentlest of boys who wouldn’t dream of hurting anything or anyone.
You, the most sensitive of boys who cries when one of his brothers hits him, not because it hurts physically, but emotionally.
You, the most snuggly of boys who always climbs on my lap for a snuggle or wants to be held in the most awkward of moments.
You, the most affectionate of boys who gives me a kiss every time I ask for one, without a fight or negotiation.
You, the most emotional of boys who wears his emotions on his sleeve—or his hat, pants, underwear, socks, whatever is handy really.
You, the sweetest of boys who never hesitates to say, “I Love You”, when it’s really needed.
You, the most grateful of boys who would literally be over-the-moon about getting a pair of socks as a birthday present.
You, the most loving of boys who becomes attached to everything. Every week there is a favorite stuffed animal, Hot Wheels car, t-shirt, or random piece of paper that you can’t possibly function without.
You, the only one of my sons (so far) who wants to marry me.
You, the one who softens my edges, calms my mind, and melts my heart.
Yesterday you turned four-years-old in which you like to tell people by sticking up four slightly adorable chubby fingers. You can mostly dress yourself, poop on the toilet, and are going to school in September. But I hope you still come to me for snuggles, kisses or a marriage proposal for a little bit longer as I’m not quite ready for those to end yet.
Even though I wasn’t prepared for you, I am forever grateful for you and hope you always feel that you can be that little boy, no matter how old you are. Always be gentle, sensitive, snuggly, affectionate, emotional, sweet, grateful and loving. Always be you. Maybe just marry someone other than me?
Happy Birthday William, we love you!