Four

Penelope Bloom, today you are four years old. The first thing you said this morning, your voice still slow and sweet with sleep, was: “am I four yet?” You have been waiting to be four for a while. You can’t wait to grow up and go to school and drive a car and be a vet and have a cat and live in a castle and and and. You talk all day long, from the minute you wake up until the minute you fall asleep (and while you sleep too, sometimes). I love to hear your chatter. Your brain and your vocabulary are magnificent.

You are the boss of our home but I will never call you bossy. A few months ago you were ordering us all around and Grady told you that you’re not the boss. You shrugged your shoulders and said, “I’m a powerful woman.” You are, baby girl, and I hope you never forget that.

You requested birthday “beesketti” (spaghetti) instead of cake and you wished for a scooter like Grady’s so you can race (but in morning pink, of course) (“morning pink” is what you call light pink because it’s light in the morning, obviously). You know what you want and you can’t be swayed. You are confident and sure and forceful and I want to be like you when I grow up.

Sometimes, very rarely, I see glimmers of your babyhood. Like how you still say “gotfor” instead of “forgot” or when you crawl up into my lap and request “mama love” when you’re sleepy. But mostly I see the amazing kid you are now, and the powerful woman you’ll continue to be as you grow. You’re a lot like your dad - you want to go faster, higher, louder, bigger, bolder. I am delighted by your indomitable spirit and a tiny bit terrified that you’re going to hop on a city bus one day and end up in another city.

Poppy Doodle Bug, I am so excited to see what you do next. Happy birthday. Love, Mama