a letter to anders on his fourth birthday.

i started writing this letter to anders in his journal while in bed at night a few days ago. i thought i’d record it here too.

anders! you are 4! and by some miracle your baby cheeks that shake when you run, and your dimpled knuckles have remained, not to mention the way you frequently fall asleep on me, stretched lengthwise down my chest and torso, in bed at night. i think this is god’s small but incredibly precious gift to me because he knew how hard it was for me to accept that you’d be my last baby. not only hard, nearly impossible for like three years straight. in part, my sweet boy, i blame you. you were (are) by all accounts one of the best babies i’ve ever known. i guess i haven’t known known that many babies but definitely a few so just bear with me. december 7, 12:20 am. you came out! 20 minutes past your due date, nearly right on time. there you were in the water before i scooped you out and brought you to my chest. even there, you were pretty no nonsense. simple labor, even helping me get the water birth i wasn’t supposed to have (sneaky). i loved you right from the start. you had one rough night–literally night one!–where you were a bit fussy but that was just a blip on the radar because after that you slept pretty much all night long, every night, going forward. i remember even remarking to your dad once, “i don’t think i’ve ever actually had to stand up in the middle of the night yet” when you were like 5 or 6 months old. all your needs were met with me lying right by your side, nursing and back to sleep, nestled in the crook of my arm. so kind of you! eventually the blonde fuzz came in, followed by the full cheeks, bright blue eyes, pouty pink lips, and i thought, “oh god, he is the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen.” we went on a lot of adventures, right from the start. planes, trains, and automobiles, and buddy, you were the greatest little adventurer any of us could ask for. there’s something about a baby who is so kind, so relaxed, so willing to let his needs be met “whenever is convenient for you, mom and dad”. it’s almost a little heartbreaking, even? you’ve been breaking our hearts since the start. it’s hard to even try to sum up all the ways in which i love you. the hilarious things you say, the way you ask me questions as we’re driving along like, “how do they make paper? and screwdrivers? is this car aerodynamic?” (aerodynamic didn’t sound quite like aerodynamic and took some translating for me to figure it out. your words are my favorite.) the way you’ll share things, even things that are really precious to you (like your snacks; you love snacks, but will almost always still give a bite if asked). the way, during the pj masks catboy song that we listen to on spotify, you wait for the moment that catboy is announced, to go sprinting through the house, so serious, so fast like the song is truly announcing your arrival on stage. the way you try to get your whole sentence out in one breath so that at the end you have to take a deep inhale. the way you go along to get along–how many cross country meets, volleyball or softball games, lacrosse games you’ve sat through of your older siblings, and sat through happily. you’re last in a lineup of six and this has meant that you aren’t always the top priority but you just go with it. we always find our quiet moments, don’t we? it’s a must in our sometimes too-busy life. you are my littlest boyfriend, and i get pretty darn close to giddy every night to cuddle up next to you. it’s truly a lovefest. when i get in bed, you’re already fast asleep and i wrap my arms around your body and bring you close in, inevitably falling asleep with my nose tucked in close by your neck, trying to take you in. that’s been the hope from the start. take this boy in, take it all in. sometimes the pressure, self-imposed of course, has been unbearable. but here’s the thing, buddy. you’ve been such a joy. and a joy like you is something you want to experience over, and over, and over again. the highest high, and i’m desperate to rewind and relive. even if it’s just this once, living out my days with you near, anders, is the greatest gift. i’m just not convinced it’s only once, though. and i always want more… more of this, more of you. i sometimes wonder if life with babies is a glimpse of heaven. the ability to reenter those precious, life-giving moments. i won’t have the answers here, but doing it even once still feels like something of a miracle. thank you for being you. thank you for blessing me, every day, multiple times a day. being your mom is the greatest gift. happy birthday, my sweet anders-badger.