Someone very special just turned four.  Although, really, it feels like he’s been four for months.  I guess that’s what becoming a big brother does to you, makes you seem all old and responsible.

This little man has a smile that melts hearts and a temper that frightens.  He’s quick to compromise, but when he feels something strong, well, he’s about as unbudgeable as they come.  He’s a quiet nurturer, with a sweet voice that soothes, and a keen eye that can see when help is needed.  He likes quiet (I love that about him), and, in a crowd, he usually seeks out those that don’t stand out and make noise.  He loves to sing and recite poetry while playing, but if he sees you listening, he zips right up.

And though he is so very happy to be growing up, I am so glad that he can (and still wants to) fold himself up real small to fit in my lap; so glad that little hand of his still likes to reach out for a familiar belly button every now and then (and it’s not his); so glad that he still needs to be carried and cuddled and kissed.   I know that all too soon, mama will play second fiddle to the rest of the world, and that will feel right, when the time comes.  I also know to savor every moment that he still wants to be little, for the moments of being big will soon be far greater in number.


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