I’m not gonna lie, little man. This one was hard on me.
I think I wanted to hold on to your toddler-hood for as long as humanly possible. And four?
Four is big kid. There’s just no denying it.
No more chubby legs or rubber band wrists. No more baby talk or wobbly steps. Just my big boy, wanting to do everything all by himself.
I know that my goal as a Mom should be to become completely uneccessary–to grow a child who becomes self-sufficient, independent, and confident.
But I’ve gotta confess: I want you to need me. I need you to need me. Because I’m your Mommy, and well…I need YOU.
In fact, just the other day I explained to your Daddy that you are actually a part of my heart–and it wouldn’t quite beat the same without you.
Isaiah, since the day you were born, you had a light about you. And I used to worry that it would dwindle with the years.
But you’ve proven quite the opposite.
Your light is brighter than ever, and boy do you let it shine.
There are so many things I want to remember about you…
The quirky little way your eyes expand when your mind is working.
The “bad guy” face you make when Daddy plays Thunderstruck in the car.
The way you call “Sammy baby” from down the hall.
And the creative excuses you come up with to explain yourself.
You’re holding onto a few words that melt my heart. Mostly because they remind me that my baby is still in there…somewhere.
There’s the “famote control” that changes the channels on TV.
We still get the Christmas decorations down from the “ackit.”
And my favorite, your gentle acknowledgment that you understand what I tell you…
“Wight, Mommy. Wight.”
Isaiah, three was a tough year. On all of us. But particularly for you. You weathered some storms, not all of which were your own. And I want you to know, for whatever it’s worth, that you sailed through them beautifully.
I couldn’t be more proud of you.
Your Daddy and I had a conversation about you this morning–about how you’re a gift straight from God.
I know, I know…all babies are. But somehow, you have a direct line to him. You tell us things that come straight from above, every single day.
And most importantly. You listen to him.
Keep that quality, baby boy. Keep it close. It will serve you well, I promise.
Here’s to FOUR, sweet Isaiah. Let’s make it our best year yet. Deal?
P.S. I love you. More than all the stars. And don’t you ever forget it.