You are now seven years old (I am the mother of a seven year old!) and I think it is high time I started writing letters to you. This will be my very first one. Please forgive me if I babble on incoherently or if I reveal anything truly embarrassing, I am still new to this whole thing (writing about motherhood, the act of being a mother to a precocious seven year old, you name it).
You are asleep right now, in your very own bed in your very own room upstairs. You had a busy week (family party on the weekend, school party today, lots and lots of school and sports and fun and other stuff in between) and I was not at all surprised to see your beautiful eyes looking tired over your birthday dessert tonight.
Oh, points for you: you are an excellent sleeper. Sometimes I watch you sleep. I go into your room at night to check on you and your face mesmerizes me. You are completely at peace when you sleep and so utterly beautiful it makes my heart hurt. I run my hand over your forehead and your nose wrinkles up for about two seconds and then your face lapses into its delicate sleepy curves once again.
Of course those slightly babyish curves are disappearing now that you are seven (seriously, how can I possibly be the mother of a seven year old?) and you are metamorphosing into a young man. This morning I looked at you and was sad for a brief moment. Sad that you are no longer that mewling little bundle that was totally dependent upon me for every need. Sad that you are growing so quickly that it is difficult to keep up with the changes. At the same time I was overjoyed to note that you are learning things faster than you did even just a few months ago. I am pleased to say that you are becoming a voracious reader and are even writing a book (in your spare moments). You are also becoming more and more independent and enjoying new strengths even you thought you’d never develop (you’ve become a master of the monkey bars at school), even though it may mean scary moments (you decided to walk to the toy store by yourself the other day you scared your poor parents half-to-death).
To put it bluntly, you amaze me. You amaze me daily with your pure joy and your compassion. You thrill me with your love and devotion. You impress me with the new skills you are learning and the old ones you are retaining. You are, in short, the centre of my world.
At least once a week someone asks me if I want to have more kids; I suppose I am at the point and age where a second child would be welcomed. If I could have more I would have to consider it very seriously, because I know you would be the most amazing older brother in the world. But since that is a blessing I am unable to accept I am happy to say that you are more than enough child for me. While you make me want to have a dozen children just like you, you also give me reason to never have another because no one could ever measure up to you. You’ve spoiled me for other kids little man…and, I think, sort of spoiled your aunties in this regard as well.
I will stop rambling on now…and end this birthday letter to you.
Happy Birthday my little munchkin man…I love you very much.