Before my youngest son turns five tomorrow, I want to take a moment and remember how much I loved Ethan at four: the constant energy, the costumes and swords, the purposely mismatched socks, the smiles, the all-out love for life. He is pure joy (mixed with healthy doses of frustration and chaos). If I think back to the day he was born, the day he came so quickly and calmly, the way the doctor held up that perfect round-headed eight pound, eleven-ounce boy, I have to hold back tears. And if I think back to the day before my mother died, when she could not get comfortable in her bed, and Ethan was the one who simply picked up a bean bag pillow and placed it perfectly between her arms...if I think about how she closed her eyes peacefully because of what he had done...I cannot keep tears in. He will only have a few years of memories with her to draw on, but they are perfect nonetheless. She adored him and he her. Somewhere she will see him turn five tomorrow...the big milestone for mothers. Don't grow up too fast, little boy. Happy, happy birthday, my sweet Ethan.
