baby you

dear k,

you are five years old.
i really don't believe it,
but there were five candles
on your cake.
i counted them.
twice.
you blew them out in one try.
so it must be true.

your doctor told me once,
not to baby you.
the last kid.
i assured him that could never happen.
he said it would be tempting.
i said whatever.

but we do.
baby you.
i still carry you around
ala-suri-style.
what?

you have redefined our lives.
you bring the crazy.
and we love it.
you keep us young.

you hold your own so well
with the big kids,
sometimes i forget you are not
a big kid.
yet.

you are easy-going
and high-maintenance
all at the same time.
i'm not sure how this is possible,
but there it is.

you choose your own path,
you pick your own clothes,
you get our jokes.
that is cool.

so now that you are five,
could you just stop growing
for a little while?
because i really miss my baby.

love,
mom