Dear Colin... (4 years old)

Dear Colin:

What a year.

You are getting spoiled from the newly discovered soft spot that I hadn't known I had. Add that to the fact that your three older female cousins on your dad's side absolutely adore you and you're still the only grandchild on my family's side and, well, you were going to be spoiled from the moment you were born anyway. Add that to the fact that you're absolutely hilarious and forget about it. You LOVE giving ridiculous answers to questions, and laugh and laugh at my overly shocked reaction:

"Colin, what do you want for dinner?"

"Dog food... [Laughing hysterically] ... and legos [more laughter]... juuuuust kidding!" 

You make up silly songs and your favorite thing to do is sing them while dancing in front of the bathroom mirror. While completely naked. Oh the blackmail videos I have - remember that when you're a teenager.

It's so easy to love you, though. You're the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and I tell you that all the time. You are an absolute charmer who is nearly impossible to resist when you ask me for something in your sweet little voice coupled with raising your eyebrows up and down. You're cute and you know it, but mostly I'm just exhausted and will give in.

I'm tired because you move. ALL. THE. TIME. You don't have a gait slower than running and there is no surface that you haven't climbed on dozens of times. It's rare, but sometimes I am able to sneak into your bed and gently lie next to you to hold you, which I'm overly compelled to do because it's the only time you're almost still. And I do it only if I beat you to sneaking into our bed which you started to do a few weeks ago and now do it every single night. Your dad and I fondly - and exasperatedly - refer to you as our little "CB" (which is short for a slang term that's not appropriate for a four-year-old. I'll tell you when you're older - and you'll immediately regret asking).

I don't have to wait to tell you a lot of things, though, because you are SO SMART. Your teachers tell me they're regularly amazed at how advanced you are when doing educational exercises, and you love to learn. You actually ask for extra homework to practice writing your letters, you always ask me what a word means if I say one you're not familiar with, and you have been able to spell and write your name for a few months now. 

You absolutely cannot go to bed without asking me a number of burning questions ("Are giraffes taller than houses? Why do grown-ups get to stay up later than little kids? Why do we have a refrigerator AND a freezer?") and have made me aware of things that I hadn't thought of before (why ARE they called "golfers" instead of "golf players" which is in line with the reference to any other professional athlete?). You ask me why I spelled out your name in cute block letters above your bed constantly and I tell you it's because you're special.

And you certainly are special. Whenever you say "I love you, mom" I have to respond with "I love you more." 

And whenever I ask you what I love more than you (and after you're done being silly naming ridiculous things like flowers or dinosaurs), you eventually conclude with the right answer because what do I love more than you?

Nothing.

Love,
Mom