Our Charlie turned four years old last week. And boy oh boy, was he ready. He’s been talking up his birthday for months. In fact, according to him, it’s still his birthday because it’s still April. And that’s fine with me. Hey, if you can find a reason to celebrate, by all means—celebrate!
Charlie, this year has been another fascinating peek into who you are, what you love, and how you interpret the world. You’re bigger, you’re braver, you’re LOUDER. More aware, more gentle, more compassionate. Independent. Full of in-the-moment joy (of course, the year has been interspersed with plenty of three-year-old doses of in-the-moment crankiness too.)
What fun we’ve had with you this year, little one. Let’s take a look back.
You love to be silly. And when you make someone laugh, I can see it in your eyes—you feel like you hit the jackpot.
Your silly side gets me giggling.
…
No surprise–you’re still hamming it up with your brother.
You still tell me secrets about how much you love Jacky, when Jacky’s not around.
…
If there’s a moment of silence in the room, you fill it with a request: “Can I have some candy?”
Or ice cream, or cake, or… anything sugary sweet. Sometimes I worry. But I’m learning that a little (five jellybeans) goes a long way.
…
You’re still falling asleep in strange places.
Foot in the popcorn bowl.
But you’ll fall asleep in plenty of normal places too.
Story time with daddy.
…
Your speech is near perfect—all of the right sounds are in almost all of the right places. But your daddy and I never encourage you to say some words correctly. We find the way you say them too adorable to put an end to.
* brefkissed (the first meal of the day)
* lellow (the color of daffodils)
* sumping (I'd like to tell you…)
* teese (brush twice a day)
* mouse (what you put your brefkissed in)
* a-yoad (in regard to Nerf guns)
I see you consciously working on your “L” sounds. Last year you would sing “ya-ya-ya.” This year you make an effort to sing “la-la-la.” Part of me is proud to hear you challenge yourself. Part of me wants you to stop trying.
You have an unexplained affinity for people dressed up like animals. Unlike your brother, you don’t run screaming from them. Instead, you chase them down and jump into their arms.
I admit it–they do look kinda cuddly.
…
You're such a charmer. You started an unexpected exchange of words a few months ago, between you and me. I don’t know where it came from. But I hope it sticks around for awhile.
Charlie: “I’m in love with someone.”
Me: “You are? Who are you in love with, Charlie?”
(He points to me.)
…
Charlie, we've spent such a fun, funny year together. You're always willing to try new things, and you're always striving to be self-sufficient–you just may be the most adventurous soul in our famly. But in the small, quiet moments, you still reach for my hand, still want to be picked up, still want to cuddle and be close. Sometimes it seems like my heart will burst if I love you more. Sometimes it hurts. And then I love you more.
What I'm realizing is that my heart won't burst. My heart grows with you.
Thank you Charlie-Barley, for helping me grow an ever-bigger heart. I am grateful.
On to year five.
