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Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Matthew is FIVE!
Daddy and sat together after you and Luke had fallen asleep. I turned to Daddy and said, "We have a five-year-old son."
"How'd that happen?"
It's true. I blinked and suddenly, instead of a tiny fire-haired baby, I have a swift and fleet-footed little boy, aching to be set free. A son who can cross the road all by himself and who now wants privacy in the bathroom. A not-so-little boy who more often, it seems, seeks a quiet space in which to dream big dreams.
Where once sat a chortling toddler, eagerly awaiting the next spoonful of food, now sits a well-mannered boy of five who uses a fork and knife with ease and can clear his own plate and cup without having to be reminded. The same boy who once struggled to zip up his own coat now happily gets himself and his brother dressed most mornings and straps them both safely into car seats.
You amaze me, son. Every day, you show me who I want to be.
I want to be like you - the child who runs ahead to make sure that the younger kids wait safely at the corner before crossing. The one who utters, "I'm so proud of you, Lukey! Well done!" easily, and often. The silly, chattering, fort-making maniac who spends ages patiently stacking pillows only to have to start all over again, because a lcertain ittle brother knocked it all down.
I love your drawings that paper the fridge and most available wall space - how they've morphed from scratches on a page to real, true and wonderfully recognizable portraits of our lives together. You. Luke. Me. Daddy. With balloons and crazy hair, always on a sunny day, always smiling.
I love how you greet each day as if it's the best day of your life. How every morning we still snuggle, even it's only for a minute because these days there are cars to be played with and imaginary villians to be fought before breakfast. I even secretly love how, like Daddy, you cannot pass any reflective surface without gazing at your self and pulling a funny face.
I love how well you've taken to swimming lessons, when it doesn't seem so long ago that bath time filled you with terror - you used to believe that you'd be sucked down the drain with the bathwater. Nowadays, only you can assure your little brother that he won't fit down there, either. There is a gentleness to you that I do not possess, though I wish I did. Thank you for showing me every day that there is another way and that sometimes, your way is best.
Thank you for loving the yellow house by the river as much as I do and for generously offering to let me live there with you when you are a grown up. Thank you for saving your pocket money so that you can one day buy a truck and take your grandparents for a ride. Yours is a kind and generous heart, Matthew and the world is lucky, SO lucky to have you in it.
I am luckier still, because five years ago, you chose me to be your Mummy. I look forward to the next five, striving to be just. like. you. My very heart.
Happy Birthday, Matthew.
I love you.