Today our baby turned five. And yes, I understand that five isn't fifteen and asking for the car keys; honestly, that's a whole other blog, if in fifteen years we haven't all moved on to holographic reading. But still, five--when it's the LAST five-year-old birthday you'll celebrate in your home--is pretty traumatic.
And when he's a younger sibling (translation: he is fully aware of Angry Birds, and knows everything about Star Wars and Harry Potter, where his older brother would have still been building with wooden blocks and not allowed to eat sugar) it is even more upsetting.
Example: "Mommy, FIVE-year-olds don't like Thomas." He said this to me within fifteen minutes of waking up at his new, prime-numbered age. As in, Thomas the Tank Engine, in whose theme we've had not one, but two birthday parties, and even dressed as for one Halloween and a good forty-six random other days during the year? Even though, personally, I'm a little over Thomas and Percy and Gordon and all those emotional engines, I don't know if I'm quite ready for my little guy to be over them.
Especially when, weeks before Halloween he approaches me with this. "Mommy, I want to be a Deatheater for Halloween." If you cannot say the "th" sound, you cannot be a Deatheater for Halloween. And thankfully, someone in Harry Potter licensing land had the smarts to not even make a size small in that particular costume. And to maintain my "good parent" status, let me explain that he only knows what that is from playing the LEGO Harry Potter game on my iPad, which is not wooden blocks but still slightly better than the alternative, I suppose.
So he's growing up. They're growing up. No matter what we'd like to think to the contrary, this is only the most recent of my bittersweet moments in what will be a long list. I'm already stocking up on tissues for his pre-K graduation and trying to figure out how to get my car not to go on autopilot to the preschool I've driven to for eight solid years.
It is a beautiful thing, to watch these little guys grow and learn, and make new connections and spout out amazingly insightful comments. And I wouldn't want either of my guys to stay little forever. But don't we all just want one more day?
Every moment is precious, and I'm looking forward to the next 364 days of Five-dom. Starting with this one--when he says, holding his hands about 15 inches apart, "Maybe five-year-olds like Thomas THIS much."
Thanks for tossing your sappy mom a bone, sweetie.