Today you are five.
Five years old.
I’m not sure I can bear it.
I really want to freeze time.
You are happy and carefree.
You are kind and loving, often ready to help others, perceptive beyond your years when you see someone in need.
I can’t keep up with your imagination.
Or your energy level.
But it’s contagious.
You ask for me to tell you stories, and together we create long, winding tales that make sense to no one besides ourselves.
You make up “languages” and teach them to your sister, and the two of you can communicate for hours using “whale speak” or “spanish”(which is not Spanish at all, but that’s what you call it).
You still love Lightning McQueen and Buzz and Woody, but you are anxiously awaiting the premiere of Chuggington. (I hope it’s better than Thomas.)
You ask questions. Oh, with the questions…
You make me smile when you use big words, and I’m often amazed with the details you remember.
You love school.
You love getting your haircut, but I think it’s because you have a crush on “Miss” Leslie.
Your prayers are sweet.
Your hugs and kisses are big and sincere.
You are five.
You are a big boy.
You are still my baby.
Happy birthday, Carter!
*Thank you, A.A. Milne.