Today, my Littlest, you are five.
F I V E.
It doesn’t sound like much. But oh my stars. You, my child, have had a lot of commotion in your five years walking this earth. Coming into the world at 3 pounds, some might think you are just a small fry but since the moment you breathed outside of my womb, I knew your exuberance would be beyond measure.
FIVE. There is a tinge of bittersweet flavor on this age, if I’m being completely honest. The marking of five years makes this mother of yours feel older and also, feels a finite measure that I am no more a mama of babies. And then, in the very same space, watching you and your brothers unfold has been one of the greatest privileges I will ever have as a human. To imagine my life without you three is to imagine a life that isn’t mine.
You were born on a Tuesday. You were bigger than we expected. They’d guess you were around 2 pounds 14 ounces and you came out at 3 pounds even.
It was one of the very best moments of my life.
You are 5. You are this blonde-curly-mopped little man. You knock on doors around the neighborhood without any hesitation, and you expect that everyone is your friend. You talk. And talk. And talk. And you hug. And hug. And hug.
You are 5. And there are 5 things that I hope you hold onto from this age for the rest of your life. Five lessons that, whether you are 5 or 55 or 72, apply.
1. Always say hello. You have this way of always smiling at a stranger and getting them to smile back. You have the confidence and assurance to say, “hi!” to anyone and everyone. You believe everyone is a friend. Never lose that.
2. Never trust a fart. I know. It’s very direct. But just trust me… but never a fart.
3. Focku is not an appropriate word. You recently learned this lesson on the school van with Mr Ron and it will serve you well to remember always. Words like focku or anything that sounds like it just aren’t kind or friendly. Also, a secondary reminder in this lesson is that just because you don’t mean a word or a sentence or a thought in a certain way, it’s not up to you how others hear or interpret it.
4. Sing your own song. Ohhhhh sweet boy… you are always singing or humming or making something up and sharing it for all to hear. Always sing your song. Always share your voice. Always be a light. It’s your super power.
5. You are loved. I tell you every night before bed. I tell you every day before you go to school. Never lose this reminder. YOU ARE LOVED. YOUR BROTHERS ARE LOVED. Whether you are 5 or 80, we will love you. And God will, too.
Happy number 5 to a boy who brings so much joy.
And who believes the word, “jeeze” belongs in every single sentence.
You are a miracle and a magnificent bookend on our Fab Five. How glad I am to have known you for five years. And I can’t wait to know you for at least 105 more.