And then you were five

My sweet boy, how are you five? The fact that I have been taking care of you for this long boggles my mind. And yet, at the same time, I don't really remember life before you. I don't really want to.

 We had a simple celebration this year. Small. Close knit. Just some of Daddy's family, and your two little buddies from church, Kingston and Ella. Your parties used to be grandiose. Chaotic. Loud. And you cried each time. This year we did things differently, and you didn't cry. Perhaps, like your mom, you just don't do crowds very well.

You are many things, sweet Logan. You are wise beyond your years, yet sensitive and so innocent still. You love your brother and you love your family. You always smell a little bit like sweat. You like science, and super heroes, and chocolate milk. You like Katy Perry and dancing like crazy and you crave routine.

You've been sick this week. The horrible stomach virus has visited us again. It's been awful. But you've let me hold you, for the first time in maybe a year. You're a big kid now, and I cherish the gift of getting to hold you one more time.

I experienced so much anxiety when you were born. For the first time in my life I experienced the kind of love that made me fearful of loss. I prayed for you for years and years before you came into existence. And then you were here and I became terrified of messing this up somehow.

You've taught me so much about life and love and what it means to be a mom. The way you love your brother is a gift to me and to your dad. You bring us laughter, and chaos, and so many smiles.

Five is going to be a big year for you, kid.
I love you.
Mom.