Four

by Kyla on January 14, 2014 · 8 comments

Dear Dexter,

Today you are four.

Four.

You’re growing, so very fast and there is a part of me that is sad. I have such pride and joy when you learn something new, even as I am a little sad that the way you did it before is now over. Thankfully you’re still in that magical age where a kiss or cuddle from mummy makes almost anything better, don’t rush to grow up little man, there’s plenty of time for that.

You’re an amazing little boy, you are so bright – everyone compliments us on your vocabulary and grasp of numbers. You love music and have my eclectic tastes, liking music across genres and eras – your favourite songs at the moment never fail to make me smile – songs by Paloma Faith, Keane, Oasis, Unwritten Law, Pulp, & Enter Shikari to name just a few (and of course some that make me cringe like Katy Perry).

I really enjoy listening to music with you, putting my iPod on shuffle and seeing if you can find an affinity to a song that I have loved. When you like a song, or I tell you that it is one of my favourites you ask me to add it to your playlist and I do, smiling as you sing along with me even if you haven’t learnt the words yet. Daddy is a bit of a music nut and is doing his best to educate you on his idea of good music, listen to him but remember that music snobbery is narrow minded and a little cheese helps your heart smile.

You are my greatest joy, my funny little man. You tell me jokes that make no sense, laughing riotously afterwards until I can’t help but join in. You have told everyone we know the joke from your Christmas cracker (What does an angry kangaroo do? It gets hopping mad!) and I laugh every time, not because it is funny but because of the look on your face and your sheer joy in being able to share laughter.

You’re affectionate and loving – you love cuddles, especially “sandwich cuddles” where daddy and I snuggle you between us and you make us both grin so hard when you say that we’re the bread and you’re the bacon – our family makes up the best kind of sandwiches. You don’t snuggle as much as you used to and I hold onto those special times when we are curled up together, reading a book or watching a movie.

You’ve stopped asking for a sibling which breaks my heart almost as much as it did when you asked constantly, I do so wish that we could have walked that path for you. I don’t think you’re missing out though and I’m not entirely sure you would like to share. Especially at this point in time – you don’t let anyone take our focus from you and that is as it should be. You’re the most important person in our world and I hope that we’re walking the fine line between holding you close and protecting you and letting you grow with at least some degree of success.

We must be doing ok at it – you amaze me every day, growing and changing, learning about the world around you. You also frustrate me, and I no doubt frustrate you. You have a temper and are a champion sulker, sadly you get that from me but at least it means I’m immune to it. Daddy and I (figuratively) kill ourselves with laughter whenever you get in a strop – not because you’re angry but because you’re so cute in a terribly frustrating way. I adore the way you storm out of a room but remember to tell me that you love me, even when I make you angry as you stamp out.

And that makes me smile, it tells me we’re doing something right. Because we love you, no matter your behaviour. I love you when you smile, when you’re happy and cheeky and I love you when you’re sad, hurt and angry. I love you when you’re naughty and trying my patience. I love you, no matter what. It makes me so happy to know that you know that’s how things work for us – we love each other, through sunshine and shadow, no matter what. I love that even when you’re frustrated and angry, you remember that.

You were longed for, my little miracle, but even in those days of hoping and wishing we never dared to dream that we could get as lucky as we did. To paraphrase from one of your favourite books – how, out of all the children in the world did we manage to get the very best one? We match, daddy, you and I. In an imperfect world, we match. Perfectly.

Four years ago you came into the world and became my whole world.

Happy Birthday Little Bear.

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