Five

Five feels big.

Five means half a decade of You, darling, here in our lives, our always-present one and I'm so glad.

Five means kindergarten. It means a wealth of activities that were previously "five and up", because "five and up" now includes you. Five is adventure and courage and everything that was wonderful about four, only bigger.



Five feels big.

Five means memories. Maybe you'll remember four or three or two, but five is almost a guarantee. What will you remember?

Five seems so wise. You talk and ask and wonder and create and every bit of you is pure magic.

Five means you asked for an ice cream cake this year, in lieu of the usual son-chosen-mama-made cake. I only sniffled a little bit.



Five means you built your own Lego fire truck today, instead of searching for pieces while Daddy built it. He only sniffled a little bit.



But five is little, too. You still curl up on my lap while I read you stories. You are happiest when I hold your hand as you drift off to sleep. You still turn to me first for comfort; I am unfailingly humbled by your certainty that I can make everything okay again. You still love the colour pink best because, oh thank you, no one has yet been cruel enough to mock or belittle you for it. You are so little and so big and so perfectly you.

I know you're only one day older today than you were yesterday, but wow. Five.

Five feels big.