Dear Kai,
You were an amazing 3-year-old. Wise and soulful, with the energy and brilliance of a thousand blazing suns. What a fun year — you had the vocabulary to say exactly what you meant, but still such a wonderfully working understanding of the world. For instance: “Mommy, let me know if I’m laying on your balls. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” And how can we forget “listen in my ear,” as you pressed your ear up to mine whenever you had something important to tell me.
You have so many questions. Is dying the opposite of growing? Why do rivers flow into the ocean? Why is the opposite of extinct not instinct? You are so cute — that excited, loving baby voice wrapped around grownup questions and convictions.
You love smooshing and smooching your baby sister, who’s not such a baby anymore. You’re still so little, and you’ve done such a good job sharing mama and papa’s attention with her. I know it’s not easy.
And then there’s the love. You spend five minutes at the end of every day telling me how much you love me — insisting that you love me more than I love you, that you love me to the moon and back, and then to Bruce’s house, and Mercy’s house, and Emmett’s house, then back to our house and all the way to Saturn. Or, more recently: “I love you all the way from the day before today to today, with a lot of grams and all the hams.” You are such a ham.
I hope you always retain your sweetness and your lovingness. You want to stay with mommy forever and build a doctor’s practice at our house when you grow up — you’ve wanted to be a doctor since you could talk, and the consistency is admirable.
All this to say: happy 4th birthday, my love.
