You talk incessantly. That is no exaggeration. You never actually stop talking. “Mom, why is tomorrow my first day of preschool? Mom, why is Brady older than me? Mom, why did you marry a bald guy?” Just listening to you wears me out sometimes, but then I remember that someday you will not ask me about the world and how it works, so I take a deep breath and I search for the answer that you are looking for (although I often get the feeling that I am not answering you in the way that you want.)
You are so sweet, my little snugglebug. You are the only one of your brothers who will sit down long enough to snuggle me. Every morning I tell you, “If you were a pickle, you’d be the SWEETEST pickle at the pickle factory.” You and me, we say pickle a lot. Nobody else gets it; it is our thing.
Everybody that meets you adores you. Your voice is just ever so slightly less high-pitched than a year ago. You have great facial expressions and you have really perfected your comedic delivery and timing.
You are ALMOST always laid-back and will just go with flow. (Being a middle child is good for SOMETHING!) Your bike was stolen last week and you never once cried or whined, just shrugged your shoulders and went on with your day. I know that you will do just fine weathering life’s storms.
Occasionally you will really dig your heels in on an issue. It usually involves having to get dressed and leave the house, as you are not a morning person. You will stand there, arms folded, face set in stone, and I swear if a tornado blew through and lifted the house up, you would still be standing in that spot because you would simply refuse to move.
Tomorrow, you return to preschool. I know that you will have another wonderful year and I really look forward to watching you grow and learn.