If you measure my love for you based on the amount of photographs I take rather than my blogging punctuality, we will be fine. (Actually, I've procrastinated with all of your birthday posts the past couple of years, so the good news is that I care or don't care about you all equally).
Bub, you are showered with more love and affection than any child I know. I don't understand how you became so spoiled, but it happened. Let's all just move on. On a typical day, Myla gets you dressed and ready, and I can't even muster up any guilt over that. Every time we drop your sisters off at school, you tell me, "Mommy, I miss the girls. Can we go to school?" You love going to school with me whenever we help the teachers, and you find it imperative that we pack you a backpack and a lunch box so you can be like everyone else. I'm not sure how I will be able to keep you happy at home for the next 2.5 years. You're ready to be in the mix.
This year, we have spent a lot of time at the park. You're weirdly strong and coordinated. You must get that from me.
With you, I have finally found a willing pho companion, so we go out to lunch almost weekly. Nothing fills you with more pride than using kiddie chopsticks. And nothing fills your clothes with more noodles. Ah well.
By the way, I take pictures of you when you sleep. Parents love their children more when they are asleep. It's science.
We have been attending Yoga Storytime at the library, because apparently that exists. It's a normal story time with fun poses mixed in. You're a fan.
How do you know when it's time to leave the park? Answer:
Sometimes, I'll go out to the backyard only to find something like this. These are the moments that I'm just glad we're in our own yard. Suffice it to say, you're the first of my children to ride the balance bike in the nude.
We watched a lot of baseball this year, because WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS, BABY!
We love you, Jon David! I'm going to smoosh your face and kiss you right on the mouth for as long as you'll let me.
Love,
Mom
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