Dear Abraham,
Today, you are four years old. Actually, right now as I hit publish on this blog it will be nearly the exact moment I gave birth to you.
Four. Somehow two and three matched your age at the time, but four…four seems very old.
You learned how to talk when you were about two and you haven’t stopped since. Lately, I love watching you see something that you wish to describe but you don’t have the words yet, and so you piece together the words you do know. “That tree has curly branches on it.” It always makes sense, but it’s never the right word. And I love that. I love, love, love to see what you will come up with. I don’t correct you so much as suggest the correct words (so that you aren’t in 5th grade still referring to carbonated water as “spicy water”).
You’re a ham. Abe-brah-HAM. Your eyes get really big and brown when you’re about to do something you think is funny. You get great pleasure in making your friends laugh, or laughing with them. Currently, you think “poop” and “bottom”are the two funniest words on the planet. We talk about a lot about how “poop” isn’t an appropriate word at the dinner table.
Recently, you used the word “hate”. I told you that wasn’t a word we used in our family, and you agreed not to use it. I’m not even sure you knew what it meant. Soon after, you got in the car after school and told me that someone at school said the word “hate” to you and you corrected him, explaining that’s not a nice word. I was so incredibly proud of you in that moment because I know you corrected him with kindness while standing up for what you believe in. That will get harder as you get older, but I never want you to stop doing it.
Also, I’d like to address this non-stop questioning of my having another baby. I’m not sure if it was the little jerk Daniel Tiger or something from the all-knowing Doc McStuffins that suggested to you all mommies should have babies in their bellies, but I’m writing letters to both shows. Mommy doesn’t have a baby in her belly. Her belly isn’t bigger. A baby is not about to pop out of mommy’s belly. And you’re not allowed to watch TV anymore.
You still don’t snuggle, Abe. It’s the one thing I always wanted you to do. Snuggle up with your mama. But you don’t do it. You do however high-five and fist bump. You give AWESOME little kisses on your way out of the car to school, and you whisper little I love yous right into my ear when I least expect it. But if you would JUST SNUGGLE me. For 10 minutes. Tops. Just get in my lap and snuggle with me. I grew you in my body…can you not just give me this one thing?!
You love: riding your tractor, going to the beach, going on airplanes, the Octonauts, “getting ready” with mommy at her make-up table, watching cartoons in bed in the morning, your blue blanket, floor puzzles, swimming (you just learned how!), popsicles, buckling your own carseat, and trying to determine what letter a word starts with (except you say it backwards: “M starts with Mommy”).
This past year, you got sick a lot of times. We finally decided it was time to take your tonsils out. It was a very successful surgery, but the recovery was terrible. You were miserable, so sick, and incredibly frustrated. There were moments I thought we made the wrong choice, but now you seem to be doing so much better. Huge mommy sigh of relief.
You traveled a lot of places this year. You went to San Francisco, Monterey, Los Angeles, Disney World, and Chicago! Wow! I adore the fact that you love to travel.
I do hope you know that with every lunch box note I write and ever bedtime song I sing, I am giving you my whole heart. We may argue, we may disagree, and we may even not speak to each other for a few minutes when we’re at our worst, but there will never be a day I don’t love you with everything that I am. You make me want to be better so that I can show you how to serve the world and make IT better. You have such amazing opportunities in front of you, sweet boy. What a beautiful life this is.
I love you more than all the words in all the books in all the world. Thank you for choosing me to be your mama.
Love,
Mommy