A Brief Letter to My Best Guy

So here we are. Four and a half years old. I'm not sure what happened, maybe I sneezed or blinked, maybe I even turned my head for a second. Whatever it was, all I know is that suddenly, you've become a child. One who's big and reads books and states his opinion about everything and obsesses about words and what they say and doesn't. ever. stop. talking.

Oh the talking. I know I've mentioned the talking before, but I could never talk enough about the amount of talking you do. If you were a cartoon strip, I would get smothered by your conversation bubbles in two frames flat. You can out-talk me, my child, which is freaking unbelievable, because I swear sometimes I think I deserve a world record for my talking. And yet, the talking gene mutated when you were created and turned into this monster talking machine that favors the word 'why'.

My dreams are haunted by the why question. For that matter, so are my days. I can't answer anything without you asking 'why?' as a follow up. You ask me questions about things that you already know the answer to. Maybe you’re testing me? I haven't figured that part out yet.

You are amazing, smart, perceptive and hilarious when you choose to be. You're so funny, that you have been most of my status updates on Facebook this past month.

Since the day after your 4th birthday party: "Well, I'm almost five now." Well, you have a year to go, but yes, son, you’re on your way. On one hand, you can't wait to be five, six and seven, but on the other, you do NOT want to get older. You want to stay little forever.

I realized the other day that you and I, we're like an old married couple, we bicker all the time, and yet it's obvious to anyone who knows us that there's a deep love and respect there. And that's probably true. And if I have to bicker with you for the rest of my life, then I'm okay with that, because every night, I kiss you goodnight and you squeeze me so hard, that my heart practically implodes.

You're an amazing child. Someone said to me the other day, "You look like you're a good mom." The truth is? I'm not the good one. I'm just lucky enough to have you for a son. You make it look easy, kid. And I love that you make me look good. I hope I make you look good too.