Five

Hi sweets,

Today you turn 5, which makes this the tenth one of these letters I’ve written (A letter, 6 months, 1 year old, 18 months, 2 years old, Two and a Half, 3 years old, Three and a Half, Four, Four and a Half). Every time I write a new one, I read all the other ones and then I fall down the rabbit hole of looking at old pictures of you, and I land in a big pile of feels. That happened again this morning, and I’m sitting in the Mozilla office sniffling like a goober.

You’re the coolest little kid, Lil. You’re big into Monopoly Junior right now, and you cackle a little when something good happens, but when you’re winning by too much, you give everyone else some of your money, “so that we all have a nice time.” You’ve got friends on the street and go over to hang out with them, which is totally normal and great, but also a hard thing to get used to. You’re developing all these mannerisms that are so big kid that it hurts, even though it’s awesome. There’s a lot of that in parenthood – heart-swelling-to-painful awesomeness. When you need my help to undo a button at the back of your dress, you gather up all your hair in your hands and tip your neck forward and I’d swear you were 17.

You’re working through having two homes, just like I did when I was your age. Which is expected and normal and still heart-achy. So far you’re just curious and trying to puzzle it out. For our part, as we muddle through it, we talk to other “bonus moms” who have been at it longer than we have, and try to pay it forward by talking to friends who are becoming step parents for the first time, to share what little we’ve learned. Take it from me, kid, there’s no quick road to the other side of this one – you’ll spend a lot of time thinking about it, well into adulthood. But I’ll always be here, if you want to talk about it.

You refuse to go to sleep. You sleep like a cat, you’re out for 9-10 hours a night at least, but getting you to close your eyes is a daily, ridiculous struggle. A few months ago I taught you the word, “stalling”, but naming it hasn’t eliminated it. You want another story. You want to pee. You want to cuddle. Your newest trick is to ask wide open questions about the world. Smart, thoughtful questions and they are my achilles heel, because of course I will talk to you about stars and planets and plants and animals and dinosaurs. Last week’s 9pm gambit was, “Daddy, how does light work?”

I pretend to get annoyed, and tell you to go to sleep, but I’m not really annoyed at all. I love our conversations. They’re the best part of my day. I love watching you experience the world, and watching you grow. It hurts sometimes, but in the best way.

I love you, Lil. Happy birthday.