You are five years old. I'm not sure how that happened so quickly, but it did. When you were born, people always said things like, "This time flies by" and "Don't blink or you'll miss it." I politely smiled and nodded, not really understanding what they meant.
But you're five now, and I get it. I've written 52 monthly letters in your 60 months of life (hey . . . no one's perfect) and I still remember writing your first. It feels like yesterday. In it, I wrote about how full your dad and I felt after you were born. Not necessarily complete. We already felt complete. The only work I could think of to describe it was "full."
Full of love and of awe . . . and of fear. And we still feel that way today. We love you more than you can know. We're in awe of what an amazing little boy you're becoming . . . on some days because of us and on others, in spite of us. We also realize that we're only 5 years in and we still have many, many years ahead of us . . . uncharted territory. We fear that a little.
This is going to be the last monthly letter I write to you here in this forum. It's not because I don't have anything left to tell you. I still have a lot to say. It's because so many of the things I want to write to you about are private. You're getting older and making friends. And some of those friends have parents who read this blog. And some of those friends might even find this blog themselves someday. Some of the things Dad and I will be teaching you in the years to come are things that you might prefer not be broadcast across the Internet, and I get it. I might still write you open letters every now and then, when appropriate. They won't be monthly, though. But for the most part, what I write to you will be kept private.
I know that I embarrass you sometimes . . . you're five now and you told me last week that sometimes I still treat you like you're 4 1/2. My apologies. I've become good at being a mom to babies, toddlers and preschoolers, but I'm still learning about this next stage. Be patient with me.
You are the best five-year-old I know. And I'm not just saying that because I'm your mom. You're so funny and other people love to be around you. Being your mom is a privilege.
If I had to wrap everything from my last 52 letters up into the three most important things I want you to know, it would be these:
1. We love you so much.
2. You are so capable.
3. I don't care nearly as much about your future happiness or success as much as I care about what kind of person you're becoming.
I love you. Have I mentioned that before?