My little Miles,

Are you really still little?  Can I call a four-year-old little?  You still have a little butt, that’s for sure.  Your size 3T jeans are getting high-watery around the ankles, but you still rely on the tightening power of the adjustable waist to keep them from falling down.  You still have a little boy nature in some ways:  you like lots of cuddles when you’re sleepy, you have a hard time regulating your moods, and you eat the same four things over and over (for the record:  pasta, hot dogs, rice, and pancakes/waffles).  But you’re making progress in so many ways, too.  You are excited about your growing independence, which has manifested itself in improved bathroom skills, getting your own water from the fridge, getting yourself dressed, and of course your progress at school.

This year, you had your first birthday party with friends.  Several of your school friends and Lucy from across the street came to your party, where you painted ceramic magnets, ate cake and snacks, and ran around like crazy people.  The video I shot of you and your friends hugging each other is some of the most heartwarming I’ve ever seen, especially when I think about how shy you were when you started at Willowwind.  You still have a somewhat shy personality, particularly in new situations or around strangers, but the huge smile on your face as Opal and Tessa hug-attacked you is proof that you are growing.

Oh, how you’ve grown.  A year ago, you were still in diapers, still climbing into our bed at night, still scared of the slide at the playground.  A year ago, you were an only child.  I’m so proud to say that you’ve made that transition beautifully.  You’re not always patient or well-behaved with your dad and me, but you are always kind and gentle with Tobin.  He is lucky to have you for a brother, and he adores you.  You were the first person to elicit huge belly-laughs from him, and if you’re in a room, that’s where he’s looking.

You were crazy-excited for Christmas this year, and reliving that kind of joy through you is reason enough to have children.  You helped me with lots of baking projects, including the ever-important task of making and setting out cookies for Santa.  You picked out a special present for your brother, and you were sure to test it thoroughly for him.  That’s pretty much what happens with all his presents, which is okay for the time being, but eventually he’s going to want to have first crack at his own stuff.

Photo by Gary Clarke

We have lots of fun in our afternoons together, and you especially enjoy doing art projects.  That’s been a lifesaver this winter.  It’s been really very mild, but it’s still a lot of work to haul the baby out to the playground, and I can’t play with you as well as I’d like to with him in tow.  Luckily, we still manage to have a lot of fun together around the house.  We’re at a point where we need to decide whether you’re going to keep going to school half days or whether you’ll switch to full days.  I admit I hope you stick with half days.  Due to a change in the Willowwind preschool setup, that will mean moving to a different classroom, but I think you can handle it.  You still seem awfully little to go to school all day.  I didn’t do that until I was a first-grader.  Besides, I’d miss you.

It’s not easy for me to let go of you.  I’m not planning on doing it in any serious way for quite some time (and maybe not even then.  You know about the excellent university just across town, right?).  The night your brother was born was the first night in your whole life that I spent away from you, and I was more scared about that than I was of giving birth (and let me tell you, giving birth is no picnic).  You did fine, though.  As far as major challenges go, getting a sibling has been the one you’ve handled the best.

You still make me laugh out loud every day with the things you say and do (for example, just now you looked up from the game you’re playing on pbskids.org and yelled, “NUTS!  Hacker wins.”).  Sometimes you make me turn around and take a deep breath to keep from roaring like a lion, but that’s not most of the time.  You have soft hair and sweet cheeks, and you still let me stroke them.  I love the special things we do, just the two of us, like our trips to HyVee and reading stories at bedtime.  I can hardly believe it’s been a whole four years since you joined our family—really, made us a family.  Seeing what a good father your dad is makes me love him more than I did when I married him.  As Skittergramps noted, after witnessing your dad handle you during a spate of bad behavior, he’s always patient with you and never loses his temper.  Who knew tantrums were good for something?

Photo by Gary Clarke

Four years of Miles.  Miles and miles and miles and miles of Miles.  Smiles of Miles, tears of Miles, witty rejoinders of Miles, scrapes and bonks and dinosaurs and Play-Doh and backpacks and cameras and winter coats of Miles.  The tough moments will fade, and the person you are becoming grows more apparent every day.  As I say when you’re cuddled on my lap, mostly in jest, “My Miles, only for me.  I don’t even have to share you.”  I want to trap you in time and keep your long eyelashes and tiny, perfect teeth all for myself.  I don’t want to share you.

But I will, because the world needs you.

Love,

Mommy