Dear Little Boy

You are three years old. And yet just yesterday, you were two years old.

And I have no idea where to begin.

I suppose the best place to start is always the beginning.

You came to us a wrinkly, wailing miniature of your paternal grandfather with deeply black eyes and hairy earlobes. You have grown into a strong-willed, perfectly miraculous combination of your Daddy and Mama.


You are loved on your third birthday more than I can, within my limited forms of human expression, even begin to tell you.

From the moment I closely held the small bundle of you and watched in complete bewilderment as your soft head instinctively rooted towards my right breast, it hurt. It hurt with a force I could never have prepared myself to receive.

This boy child, this indescribably vulnerable human being who fit perfectly into the crook of just one arm, was mine.

I was overcome not only with the warmth of aching elation but also with a crushing gratitude; a sense of thankfulness for this child was in every cell of my recovering body. The entire 48 hours following your arrival, I was in a constant fluctuation between confusion as to whether I had only dreamt you up and bliss because I knew I hadn’t.

You transformed me into a mother I never thought I’d be and you spin my world on a honeyed axis of self-exploration and triumph.

You little stinker.

You 30 pound mass of confident muscle and cheerful energy.


How your big brown eyes make magic in this house! How you’ve managed to snugly wrap each one of us around your curiously chubby fingers. I could stare at your dimpled knuckles for hours while giving in to your every passing wish. You know this about me too and never fail to cloak your baby browns under the blanket of soft eyelashes while whispering “pweeeeeez.”

In your own sweetly tricky way, you can make my world come to a screeching halt and then demand it all over again. And I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it to you with sprinkles on top. How are you able to do this to me? How is it that you’ve taught me to enormously love not only you, but also your big sister more than I dreamed I would and your big brother more than I ever thought I could? I see their eyes reflecting in yours and the combination of my three children instantly spiders from one to the next before I’m able to distinguish one from the other. You are the glue that finished this familial art project. You curiously transformed us from abstract to concrete.

You make me a better mother.

And you make our house very loud.

With every new bicycle trick, song sung-aloud, newly tasted food or temper tantrum statement of independence – I love you my little boy….more than the stars and the moon.