Birthday Letter

Dear E,

You turn four years old in a few hours. It is the night before your birthday, and I am sitting at the desk in the piano room typing. I just finished hanging blue crepe paper up around the house and cutting shapes out of blue jello. This is the first time you told me what you wanted for your birthday: at first you said you just wanted chocolate ice cream, with chocolate cake. Then you said you wanted a party with a few friends. We went to Party City together on our last date, and you picked out Cinderella napkins, plates and cups, because they were blue. When they said the Cinderella balloon was sold out you suggested we buy blue star balloons instead. We have blue drinks, blue straws, and we will dust the cake with blue sprinkles. While we were at the store, you asked me a million times, “what is this?” “can we buy this?” I almost always said at the end, “no, we don’t need that” and you would quietly put it back on the shelf.

You know how to count to one hundred now, so you’ve been counting down to your birthday for a while. But tonight you said to me, “mommy, I feel sad. I won’t be three anymore. I want to be three again some day.” Dee-dee was lying next to you; you were both getting your night diapers after our routine of a bunny story (you laughed at all the right parts), singing (you know the words to all the verses of the songs), and brushing our teeth. I told you, don’t worry, you’ll always be three to me, no matter how big you get.

You are still yourself the way you were a year ago—sensitive, articulate, imaginative, tidy—but you sense, say, imagine, and do even more. You translate what dee-dee is saying and give me advice on how to take care of him. You can talk to yourself for an entire car ride without stopping. You want to be read to all the time, nonstop. You can draw a person with eyeballs, eyelashes, and eyebrows. You can write your name. You know the sounds of all the letters. You want me to tell you everything I’m saying when I talk to other adults. You ask “why?” all the time, about everything. You still take care of all your animals and have started naming them. You can dress yourself, clip your own hair, put on your own shoes.

Here is a list of things you like: riding your bike. Finding friends to follow. Ballet. Your green stripey blanket. Fruit shakes. Books and the library. Going to the playground or splash park. Creeping out of bed at night to tell me you've tidied your whole room. Skipping and running. Collecting roly-poly bugs. The idea of school. Wearing dresses. Your pink shoes. The color blue and anything chocolate. Watching Planet Earth. Any kind of craft. The small white goat at the petting farm.

One time I will remember from the past year is when you were sitting in my lap, on my left thigh next to Eric on my right as usual, gliding before bedtime. You suddenly told me, “I want to ask God to be in my heart.” You didn’t have much more to say than that, but it was a special moment.

One thing I love about you is how easy it is to make you happy. You take so much joy in so many small things. You love being with Mommy and Daddy and you tell us all the time how much you love us. You tell us how dee-dee is your best friend. You want to go on dates with me, you kiss the baby in my belly, you make my bed for me in the mornings. We are so thankful you were born four years ago. I think we will be a little sad when you get older.

Love,

Ma-ma