Hello, my love. I just finished reading the last letter I wrote to you an entire year ago, back when your fourth birthday seemed like some far-off notion I’d never be able to comprehend. And yet, that day is here, and while much has changed, much has stayed the same.
You still love Bluey and Muppets. You still hate the word no. You still love pizza and yogurt. You’re still…let’s say “aggressively enthusiastic” when your sister comes home from school every day. You still start every day by climbing into my lap and snuggling with me while we sit in our corner of the couch (“sit cor-nah?” is the first thing you say to me most mornings, and I love it).
You have been getting up earlier, though. All that bragging I used to do to my other mom friends about what an amazing sleeper you were (“I have to wake him up at 9! Can you believe it! Mmmhurhurhurhurrrr” *sips martini*) came back to bite me big time, when you realized Libby gets up at 7:30 every day for school and our mad dash to get her out the door was potential Family Fun Time you were missing out on. So now, after you hear my alarm go off each morning, you stumble into the hallway, ready to start your day despite not having to be at your own school until three hours later. That means I get to spend my mornings swapping the Today show for whatever Disney movie is your current fav and pining for the days when I used to sneak back to bed for an hour after I got Lib on the bus. But you know what? It gives us more time to sit cor-nah, and I can’t think of a better way to start my day.
After our a.m. snuggle, it’s off to preschool, where you are wrapping up your first year. I spent the whole of last summer worried that maybe you weren’t ready to be away from me just yet. The world was just dipping its big toe back into the shallow end of normalcy after covid, meaning you and I had barely spent any time apart for nearly a year and a half. I thought you might need more time to get used to not seeing me for a few hours at a time or socializing with other kids who weren’t your sister. Once again, you proved me wrong. You’ve made me so proud with how well you’ve done making friends and learning new things. I was proudest, however, during your Christmas pageant when you made like your hero The Grinch and stole the whole show.
The shimmy at the end is EVERYTHING.
You’ve also spent the last year falling in love. While you do have a crush on a sweet little girl in your class named Katarina and you affectionately refer to our next-door neighbor Lucy as “my girl,” your heart actually belongs to a deceased nonagenarian. Eric Carle, the late author of such classics as “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” and “Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?”, has brought you more joy in the last few months than nearly anything else. I love listening to you read his books aloud, half because of how happy it makes you and half because of how you pronounce some of the animal names. You opt to call the boa constrictor a “ball shaker” and I have zero intentions of correcting you.
The only thing that might contend with Carle as the thing that makes you most happy is Steve. Steve is the subject of a penguin documentary airing on Disney+ that we have watched however many times it takes for a four-year-old to memorize a 70-minute script. The first time I put it on, I needed something to distract you while I did laundry. I was down in the basement when I heard you shrieking hysterically upstairs as if someone was pinning you down and tickling you within an inch of your life. I raced upstairs to find you cry-laughing at a silly little penguin tripping all over himself to the peppy pop number “Stir It Up” by Patti LaBelle. I have never heard you laugh harder, before or since.
I mean, I giggle every time, too.
I think Steve speaks to the comedian in you, as this past year has shown us how utterly funny you can be. You love to perform, whether you’re reciting dialogue from your favorite show or shaking your little booty along to the Jeopardy theme song (with perfectly timed hip juts, I might add). You do just about anything to make us all laugh or smile. You’re happiest when the people you love are happy, which is something I love most about you. You show us your beautiful heart in so many ways every day, and each one makes me love you even more.
I adore you, My Sun.
Love,
Your Moon (a.k.a. Mommy)
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