5

I began writing Abraham a letter…one for each month of his life until he turned one and then a subsequent letter for each year. They’re all in the archives, and someday I hope to bind them all together and hand them to him on his 18th birthday.

Dear Abraham,

Today, you are 5 years and 2 days old. I wanted to write this letter on your actual birthday, but we were so busy. 🙂

When I ask people about you, like teachers and family members and friends, they have answers. You’re a PERSON who people know now. It’s not just, “He’s so cute,” or, “What a sweet kid.” You have grown into a little boy with personality traits people associate with you! Do you know how cool that is?
To name a few:
1. You’re a total ham. You love to entertain the people you love with songs, dancing, and jokes! Your laughter is infectious, if not sometimes manufactured to encourage other people to laugh. I think you’re like me, in that way.
2. You talk. So much. But you ask questions and you remember the answers. Your vocabulary is incredibly. You only have to hear a word and its meaning once before it becomes a part of your lexicon. You might consider learning how to listen sometime this year, but for now we’re all very proud of how well you communicate!
3. You’re smart. And you love to share or apply what you know. Whether it’s telling us about a new bird you read about in school at the dinner table (loudly) or showing me different letters around town and on signs, there’s no place that doesn’t contain knowledge you want me to know that you know!

Beyond what other people know about you, I know that you are resilient. Your dad and I divorcing was the worst thing I ever went through. This past year, you rebuilt our life with me. You seemed to intentionally bond with me, you strengthened me, and I am very grateful for that. But this year and all the other years of you life, it’s so important to me that you know you are not in charge of mommy being happy. I will always take care of YOU, and you will always be massively loved by your dad and me.
I know that you never forget anything, including where they used to keep the Fruit Buddies in the grocery store and where they keep them now.
I know that you are NOT afraid to misuse or downright butcher the English language. I am humbled by your brave attempts, and how detached you are from your failures. It’s inspiring.
I know that you adore other people, kids, and animals. If you could always be in the middle of 20 people or more, you would. You did not get that from me.
I know that sometimes your discovery of a new experience is magical to watch. Your eyes get so big and shiny, your face so soft. One of my favorite things to watch is you seeing or hearing something for the first time.

Every night that you are at my house, I watch you sleep. (Not in a creepy way, but honestly it’s just sometimes the only way I can really look at you when you’re not talking.) I kiss you and I whisper to you how much I love you, and I often whisper apologies for my failures as a mom that day. I will probably do that until the day you grow up and move away.
Every morning that you wake me up at 7am, I am grateful that you improve upon your techniques from the morning before by adding a kiss or a “how was your sleep” or a smile in my face before you begin rattling off breakfast requests. And I love that you know mommy needs coffee before she can help you.

I vividly remember someone telling me when you were about two months old that life returned somewhat to normal when her son turned 5…I remember thinking that was so far away. But here we are, and I can promise that our life is anything but normal. I adore the glorious being you are, I am honored that God chose me to be your mom, and I cannot remember what life was like without you.
I love you more than all the words in all the books in all the world.
Love,
Mommy

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