My big boy

Four years. I can’t believe it. How did he go from this:

To this:


I really find it all amazing. He’s articulate, he knows all his letters, can sight read some words, likes to play math, and is ALL MINE. I love him so much…he should never know just how much I love him.

But do you know what? I’m starting to think that this birthday thing is bogus. Why are we celebrating him? What has he done that is so remarkable? Why aren’t we celebrating us, the parents? I mean for the first 3 years we kept him alive…that deserves some sort of presidential commendation of some sort…or at least our own wing at the ER. And for the past year…well, we haven’t killed him…again deserving some sort of award I am sure.

So tonight, as we opened up his presents, it wasn’t him that we were really toasting. It was us. Here’s to us…4 years in and we are stronger, sometimes meaner and sometimes nicer, more lenient and yet also stricter, more forgiving, equipped with a better sense of humor, and better parents than we thought we would be. We toasted with our “survival martinis” and hope to be drinking them every June 5 for the rest of our lives.

Happy birthday big boy. We love you.