Dear Rowan,
You are the funniest kid. I never have any idea what’s going to come out of your mouth–nor what interesting hand gestures you’ll add to it. Everything you said, you say with such conviction. One evening you told us,
“I’m as tired as a moon.”
It gave us a chuckle, but then the next night:
“I’m as tired as jupiter.”
So we asked, “is that more tired than the moon?”
Which you replied, “well, yeah, the moon isn’t a planet.”
As much as you look like daddy did at your age, you still have so much of my personality. You’re the introvert; every morning you insist we go back to bed to cuddle, often curling in my lap, telling me you’re my puppy. You’ve given up chais in exchange for lemonade. With your siblings you ver from best friends to “don’t touch me!” Understandable.
At the new house, despite having 5 doors to go outside, you insist on taking a window. And you are never so outraged as when someone says you have to wear pants. You still carry your backpack around everywhere. It weighs roughly 5 pounds and I never see you take anything out of it; there is a hole in the bottom and I’m not sure how you’ll react if we have to replace it.
You are adamant you aren’t a baby, and you’ve allowed that you aren’t a little boy anymore. So here’s to you being 4.
Love,
Mommy
