I get on to him at 9:00. I fuss at 10:00. I pop a behind at 11:00.
I can't sleep, Mommy. I too 'sited.
Finally, quarter to 12 sleep comes to the soon-to-be birthday boy.
I looked back on last year at this time to remind myself what the beginning of four looked like.
I remember crying. Thinking four is such a milestone.
But now five . . .
I'd give alot for four again.
Six fifteen this morning he jumped out of bed. I fussed at him and at seven I popped a behind - yep, the behind of a birthday boy. At 7:45 he got caught standing in the hall -
he laughs and says
Somebo-de sing Happy Birfday to me!
I sing and hug on him, kiss those chubby cheeks, and tell him how proud I am of him. Tell him what a beautiful five year old he is and that he is the only son in the whole wide world for me. And God knew it.
Oh, Mommy.
He pulls away and calls his daddy on the phone -
Daddy, sing Happy Birfday to me!
Mommy says I look like a mon-ke and I 'mell like one too!
Somebo-de sing Happy Birfday to me again, pease!
and those cheeks look like they may explode.
Oh, Mommy. Slow down six. Slow down.
Love those cheeks - the ones I pop, too.
