My son is four today. I’m officially 48 months postpartum. See also: WTF and HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?

Baby O,

Last night as you were falling asleep, you could barely keep your eyes open (much like your mother after 9pm on two glasses of wine) and you asked for your story. “You want to know about the day you were born?”

First day of school 2011

Your eyes lit up and you stuck your tongue out in that way you do when you get excited and I think you’re sort of proving evolution isn’t just a theory.

O at three

“It was a sunny day a lot like today was,” you don’t get the irony in my voice but I chuckle. “I took your sister to soccer and then to get a hair cut.” I look at your scraggly hair and feel terrible that you’ve had two real hair cuts in your life. “Grandma and Grandpa came up to visit and we all went out to dinner. While we were at dinner, it was becoming apparent you weren’t going to wait the last four weeks before coming out to play with us. That night we went to the hospital and you were born early.”

baby o

“The doctors helped you learn how to breathe and eat and you got strong and grew. We got to go home a little while later.”

Tiny O

Your breathing got heavier and your eyes closed. I stroked your hair as you fell asleep next to me like you do nearly every night. As I got up to leave, you turned to me to do your goodbye routine. You always wave, blow a kiss, and say I love you in sign language. You’ll remind me, loudly, if I ever forget the routine before I leave you. I wave, blow a kiss and show the I love you back as I close the door to your bedroom and your third year. Kiddo: Here’s to four.

happy boots