Hi Baby,

I know that you think that word ‘baby’ doesn’t apply anymore, but you’ve got to accept that to me it always will.

But I want to tell you a secret.

I’m glad you’re not a baby anymore.

This past year with you has actually been one of my favorites.  6 was so much fun.  At 6 you grew so much in so many ways, and I caught glimpses of the young man you are becoming.  You have begun to develop your own likes and interests outside of the world that we have shown you.  You are strong and independent and witty.  And we’ve realized that you’re actually hilarious in a much-more-than-6-year-old kind of way.

This past year with you has also given me hope that these ‘intense hands-on parenting days’ that I’m in with your younger sisters, the days that sometimes seem like they are only made of up tantrums and time-outs, and endless repeated book readings, don’t actually last forever.  Because here’s another secret:  I couldn’t have imagined parenting getting any better than chubby hands and baby snuggles. But you’ve shown me that it does. That at some point I can breathe a little easier. That I get to sit back and enjoy the show a little more instead of being the constant composer of it.

But just as the hand dimples don’t last forever, I’m assuming this phase won’t either.  That maybe this season is a reward for making it through the early years, and the calm before the storm of the tween years.  And in assuming that, I will seize it for all it’s worth.

I can’t remember the last time you asked for my help with your Legos, and it is becoming more and more rare that you ask me to read you a book.  And every time I pick you up or something happens that you need me to hold you, I wonder if that time will be the last.  I can literally feel you slipping through my fingers.  But I promise that I won’t squeeze.  Because even though you will always be my Peter Pan, I know that you are destined for conquering far greater things than Captain Hook.

Happy Birthday, Baby.