You have been in my life now for five years (and 9 months + 5 days), but it's a strange feeling that I have when reflecting back on my time with you. I feel like time is flying at the same time that I can't really remember what my life was like before you were born.
I knew the day I found out about you that I had sentenced myself to a lifetime of worry, but it's starting to get worse now that your dad and I are evaluating kindergarten options for you. Kindergarten. Just thinking that word gives me anxiety. Talking about it with you doesn't help, as you are worried about going to a new school, which isn't a surprise since you have been going to the same daycare since you were 3 months old. You're worried about the "big kids" and that you won't have any friends there (despite the many times I've told you that it's a new school for everyone who "won't have friends either").
I hate that you are worried about that because I see shadows of my own anxiety disorder in you, and pray that for you it's just a fleeting, momentary concern. Leave the uneasiness to your mom, OK? Because I know you'll be fine. You'll be more than fine. You make friend so easily and are "very popular" according to your kindergarten prep teacher.
She also said you were smart. But we knew that. You never let an unfamiliar word go by without asking what it means and are eager to keep learning to read, though you get frustrated at home when reading with me. It's probably because my patience with this task is barely even registering when you guess at the words. ("Don't guess honey. You can't actually think that a word spelled "g-o" is pronounced "because.")
Plus, it's times like this where I realize just how screwed up the English language is. Silent "e's"? Blended letters? The words "book" "moon" and "door" all with two "o's" but pronounced totally differently!? But you usually ask and want to read, and are proud when you read a sentence all by yourself. Plus your handwriting has gotten so much better in just the last few months and I love the phonetic spellings of "lov" and "hows".
Plus, You Are. Freaking. Hilarious. You absolutely love to make me laugh, and it comes so naturally to you. Whether it's dancing around naked, making silly faces, or, yes, farting (oh the farting - whether it's actually passing gas, making fart noises, or talking about farting - you are all about farting. I actually wrote about it for a mommy blog and it was published on Scary Mommy) you can pretty much entertain yourself and anyone else around you.
You still ask me to cuddle with you every night and aren't content unless some part of your body is touching mine, whether it's your arm across my leg at the dinner table, your head on my shoulder in bed, or your whole body curled up in the circle of my legs on the couch. Whenever I get a little annoyed at being a mommy jungle gym, I try to remember that this phase won't last forever.
It's something your dad reminds me when you crawl into bed with us. Which is every night. Every. Single. Night. Most nights before even your dad and I get upstairs to bed. You are right there waiting for us at 11 p.m. I have no idea why you sleep between 12:30 and 2 p.m., 9 and 11 p.m., and 12 and 7 a.m., but it is nothing short of a rigid internal clock case study. It's a little snuggly, annoying, cock-blocking certainty.
But it's impossible to stay mad at you. Even when you get bored when we are at a sporting event and ask me to leave 10 trillion times or throw tantrums, which still happen when you don't get your way after you try as hard as you can to negotiate what you perceive as fair, you will always sweetly apologize once you have calmed down.
After a long day at work and school, we are both just pretty content just sitting quietly under a blanket on the couch while you are watching your iPad and I am reading or playing games on my phone enjoying the silence for once. It doesn't happen often. You sir, are LOUD. But that's OK. Your mom doesn't really have an inside voice either.
We're both going to be OK. We'll get through this whole kindergarten thing together, like we have always done. Just don't get to college anytime soon baby.
Love,
Mom
