Original post date: February 24, 2014 (Moving my content from one blog to another. It just feels right.)
I wrote emotional birthday letters to my son for his first and second birthdays. Then his third birthday passed. I was pregnant, overwhelmed at work, in the process of selling the house, etc. etc. There was no letter for that birthday.
Now, quick as a wink, he's four. I think I want to write him another letter.
Dear Little JAR,
You turned four last month and I'm pretty sure motherhood has turned my life into an evil time warp with the clock moving faster and faster. It's funny, because the time between Christmas and your birthday felt so long to you. Ages, eons, practically centuries. For me? A moment. Either way, it happened. You're four.
Most traces of baby are completely gone now. Your feet are strong with arches and you have visible knuckles instead of dimples on your hand. Your once round baby belly is mostly flat. You still have your baby curls because you're not old enough to beg me for a short haircut. I'm sure it's coming.
This year was full of change and you don't like change. Your baby sister was born in April and we moved to a new city and house in June.
I will never forget the moment you met your sister. We carefully planned it, putting the baby in your Auntie's arms so you wouldn't feel too jealous. I sat alone in the hospital bed, my arms wide open, waiting for you to dive in. You ran right past me, straight to your sister, and just stared at her with big eyes. You adored her from that moment on. Learning how to share our attention was not easy for you, but you never blamed your sister for it. Ten months later and you are still excited to see her every morning.
I will also never forget moving. I brought you, at nap time, to the new house to drop off some plants. You sat on our new deck and sobbed. "This is not our house. Our flowers don't go here. I don't want to move. Don't make me move!" Then your sister blew out her diaper and I cried too. I'm sorry I wasn't better for you then.
But time is the universal salve and we settled. We spent the summer in our new backyard, dipping our toes in your wading pool and talking about life -- the butterfly life cycle, the food chain, where your sister came from -- you are so curious. I hope you always ask questions and continue to learn.
You are the funniest person I know. It's amazing to watch you develop all of these ideas and opinions. You love to eat dark chocolate and bowls of feta cheese. The doctor thinks you have a dairy allergy, so that's a bummer of a lifestyle change. We're in the middle of your dairy elimination diet/test and you're pretty hilarious. Food allergies/sensitivities are pretty much the norm these days, so while you miss your cheese, you also think it's pretty cool to be in the "allergy club." You clutch your pirate lunchbox and proudly exclaim, "I have a special lunch because I'm allergic to dairy!" It makes me laugh.
I used to worry because you didn't like to play on your own. That worry (like most of them) was unnecessary because turning four has really ignited your imagination. You play all day long and I love it. My participation is required for important guest roles, such as exhausted mama polar bear -- my favorite role, probably because I just have to lay in my den and wait for you to feed me penguins. I love to watch you. You get excited and pace around the room, waving your hands for emphasis.as you break it down. "Mommy, I'm the brother polar bear and I have to go on a trip to catch baby penguins and you're the momma, so you get the picnic ready. Okay? Okay?!" (Last night, you threw a blue blanket on the floor, put on your swim trunks and a ski cap, and practiced diving from the top of your Sit & Spin into the "water." So cute. You also carefully arranged a bunch of rocks and sea glass on "shore," but then your sister crawled over, stuck sea glass in her mouth, and that was the end of that. Thanks for your patience. I know it can be hard buddy.)
You are also testing your limits and trying on a bit of an attitude. Daddy says that you scowl just like I do. You love your baby sister, but you still miss being the exclusive center of our universe. Your attention seeking behaviors are unique and always effective. One morning, you took about twenty picture books off of the shelf and arranged them in a path leading from the kitchen back to the shelf. You grabbed my hand and said, "Mommy! Follow the path to my bad choice!" So I followed the path to the bookcase, now covered in carefully drawn curlicues and J's -- on EVERY exposed surface. I swallowed my laughter and sternly handed you a sponge to clean up your mess. (The truth? I was kind of proud of your creativity.)
Jackson, you are such an amazing little person. Every day, I thank God for picking me to be your mama. I love you. Forever, for always, no matter what.
Mommy
