6

You were impossible to bring in to this world. Somewhere, I’ve got photos in an album of a dining room table covered in medicine vials, syringes, etc. I’ll save the guilt trips for you on that later. I’m entitled after all.

You were hard to bring into this world. After it was over, I remember one of the nurses talking to me about what to expect the next morning, where I could find my water pitcher. I quietly told her, “Yes, but I’m going to die now.” Did I mention you were very hard to bring in to this world?

But…you were the most beautiful baby in the world. I say that free of the typical, obligatory mother’s view. You really were. Shiloh Jolie-Pitt’s got nothing on you. You were perfect with round cheeks and more black hair than Elvis. You were and are something special.

You are sweet and kind, earnest and thoughtful. You’re just starting to balk when I kiss you, but I’m going to keep doing it. Forever.

I can see you from the kitchen window now. You’ve found a baby toad and I made you put it in an old plastic Easter bucket because you squished the last two toads to critical condition. This toad is starting to look a little limp as well. The dentist said you’ve got a loose tooth and I had to give you the lecture about not to actually eat it when it falls out. You asked me why not.

Later, you’ll sit with (and probably torment) your sister when it’s time to settle for your hot chocolate and movie. It’s Peter Pan tonight. You’ll balk again when I try to kiss you good night, but not before you ask me to pull your bad dreams out of your ears. I will.

When you wake up in the morning, you’ll be six.

Happy Birthday pumpkin. Your Mommy loves you big and forever.

Mom.