Dear Whit,
Happy four years old. It is a blink of an eye since these photos were taken, of you at the hospital, coming home for the first time, and at one week of age. Wow. You were the baby who gave me the blissful newborn experience I so desperately wanted (with a lot of help, let’s be clear). From the moment you were born I didn’t want to be away from you, didn’t want to let you go (though I was OK handing you off to the night nurse, and going to sleep, which is what led to the bliss, etc, etc).
You were a dreamy baby, full of smiles and easy going. I let you down early by stopping nursing at 4 months – for that I am still sorry (especially now that you have your nut allergy). You were amenable, quick to sleep through the night, and generally very accomodating of your sister’s overzealous affections. I am so grateful for those first few months, which I truly loved. I am not a very traditionally maternal mother, I’ve accepted that now, but the closest I’ve ever come to feeling like one was in your infancy. In a very real way you helped me get over the regrets and guilt I had from your sister’s babyhood, and for that I am so grateful.
I will never know if it was because you are a second child, because you are a boy, or because you are you (and it doubtless some complicated amalgam of the three), but I found your personality slow to emerge. You were quiet, more observant than talkative, more relaxed than assertive. Somewhere around age 2 1/2, however, you came out of your shell with force. You started talking and you never stopped. You mimicked, you joked, you laughed, revealing a great sense of humor. You are truly hilarious now; not a day goes by that you don’t make me laugh. Sometimes it is classic 4 year old boy humor, like the night at dinner with Nana and Poppy when you insisted on saying your own grace after Grace did, solemnly declaring, “Thank you for this poopy dinner.” Other times you demonstrate a knack for physical comedy, like your habit lately of running out of your room wearing your 18-24 month dalmation Halloween costume, your red superhero cape, and shouting “I am super doggy!”
Once you were comfortable walking, it seems, you took off a run and never looked back. You are, like your sister before you, physically fearless and profoundly adventurous. There is no challenge on the playground that you don’t want to tackle, no hurdle you don’t want to climb, no slide you don’t want to throw yourself down. You like to climb trees, run across fields, and kick balls. I remember one time this fall at soccer losing sight of you for a few minutes only to find you about 15 feet in the air, scaling the chain-link backdrop of the baseball diamond like an adept rock climber, totally unaware of how high you were.
I described you at your 4 year checkup last week as a “3D child” as opposed to a “2D child.” You are less interested in pen and paper than you are in Legos. My favorite story from last year at school was a day when you crouched down under the sink, listening to the water flow through the pipes, putting your hand out to feel the warmth, saying “Water is flowing here!” You are fascinated by how things work, intrigued by both building and taking apart; I think you are an engineer at heart, cut from the Mead cloth.
You are somewhat slow to warm but once you do you are loyal and effusive. You greet extended family like the Woods and Lavallees with enthusiasm and hugs. You have an astute memory for names and faces, remembering details of people when even I do not. Even though you have a volume problem with your own voice (you talk loudly), you are able to hear a whisper three floors away. And your recall is amazing. You recently pronounced that your mullet-like hair was “Business in the front, party in the back!” and in so doing revealed that you had heard your father saying that about you when you were upstairs ostensibly engrossed in TV.
You are passionately fond of your sister, and want to be with her all the time (to her occasional chagrin). During a recent car ride Grace asked me if she could start my new puzzle with me, and I said, “Well, Grace, I love your help but sometimes Mummy likes to be alone.” Grace thought for a bit and agreed, “Yes, I like to be by myself too sometimes.” Whit, you shook your head and said firmly, “No, I never like to be alone. Never. I like to be with Gracie!” The two of you want desperately to share a room, and I’m interested in letting you, but you need to stay in said room past 6am if you are ever getting another chance at it!
You are much less interested in and beholden to authority than I am, which is something I both respect and fear a little in you. You often need to test a rule to make sure it does apply to you, though I am glad to report that once you learn that it indeed does you tend to abide by it. This summer at Chuck E Cheese I watched you from across the room as you struggled to throw footballs into a plexiglass wall several feet away with a set of holes in it. You couldn’t throw the football that far, so you nimbly climbed over the clear divider that separated the rest of the room from the 4 foot ramp that led up to the target wall. You marched down the ramp and proceeded to stuff footballs into the wall, racking up points. To be fair, there was no sign that said “do not climb,” but it was clearly implied. I was impressed by your creative approach to your problem, and admire the way you are not bound by a vague sense of rules or authority. Nevertheless, you do need to live in this world. I anticipate this will be a juggling act for both you and me as we go forward through childhood to your teens!
Whit, I love your disposition: you are generally sunny, warm, curious, open-minded, and affectionate. You are unafraid to share your feelings, good or bad, and you are quickly soothed by a hug from me. Oh, my little man, may you keep your energy, your positive orientation towards people and the world, your comfort with expressing yourself. Happy fourth birthday, my baby boy. I love you.