Happy Birthday, sweet baby- I want to be the first person to welcome you to your fourth year on earth. Can you believe we've both made it this far? Neither can I, but we did it! An extra piece of cake for you and a nice present for mommy for surviving this last year- you keep me on my toes! Thank God, you keep me young, too.
I gotta admit- I'm a little blue about this- three year olds are definitely babies, but four year olds? That's the line in the sand- you're officially a big boy.
I see your oldest brother, Kyle, at age 14 and he's almost a grown up. He'll be driving in two short years. I met him ten years ago and that time has flown by so fast it's ridiculous. He looks like a teenager now. He talks like a teenager. He smells like a teenager.
I see your middle brother, the biggest Baby C, Colin, and he's looking 8 in the face. I still vividly remember how scared I was when Daddy and I brought him home from the hospital. I spent his first year of life terrified I would break him. (or that he would break me- he was mean!) He is starting to look like a middle school kid. He talks like a middle school kid. He smells like a teenager, though. He's stinky.
You're my little Joe Joe- the tiny dude who sits on my boobs and holds my face in his hands when he wants my attention. You're the voice I hear when I walk out of the room that's yelling "Mommy- where you going? I NEED you!" You're the frantic race to the front door when I walk outside when I get the mail. You make sure I'm never lonely ("Hey mommy- you taking a shower? Ok. I'll open the door so you not lonely.") or uneducated ("Mommy I want Team Umizoomi NOOOOWWWWW!!!!") or lazy (Mommy get up and play Power Rangers with me. I the red ranger- you a Nighlock...") You're my little Leo- it's all about you, all the time ("Mommy I'm so friggin' cute!") You're my little tough guy ("Hey, Connie? See my muscles? They're huge.")
You're also the kid who pooped on the trampoline. The kid who gave himself a mullet. The kid who begs for makeup and nail polish (black only, of course). The kid who redecorated my upstairs with spray paint. You're the kid who randomly asks people if they want to see his butt. Your conversation is peppered with phrases like 'chocolate ding dong', 'boobies', 'teabagging' and 'sorry for party rocking, baby girl'. You're hilarious without trying. You're too cute for your own good. You're a criminal mastermind. Probably. You're the boy who tells me "Mommy? You're adorable!" when I tuck him in. (Side note: you're very free with the compliments "Mommy, you look like a fairy godmother!" And also quick to point out if I'm slipping "Mommy, where you makeup? You don't look like a princess today.")
Oh, hell. Now that I think about it, I'm ready for you to grow up. But just a tiny bit, ok?