four

Dear Hank,
You are a boy who cannot wait.*
Like life is so interesting, you have to find out what happens next.
Like I blinked and now you are four.

Rather than stumbling through a bewildering world, you run full speed ahead, confident and ready.
You are all scraped knees and snotty nose, dance moves and exuberant doodles.
You've got dreams, and all the potential to make them real.
You seem dissatisfied by the template for a childhood that does not accommodate your desires or that would compel you to assimilate to the status quo.
You are creative, clearing space on the counter for projects, most of which involve rainbows.
You spend much of each day standing on elevated toes.
And if you're not standing, you're skipping, literal joy in motion.
You live thrilled about nearly every little thing and comfortably bananas.
I love when you ask to help make egg salad, and the way you always want to borrow a few blooms from my bouquet for a small vase in your own room.

You are a glorious, growing person, a golden ball rolling straight through the middle of our lives, crashing into things and hollering that you're not hurt, unzipping a smile on every face you pass.

You are more than okay, Hank.
I love you to Hawaii and back.
-Mom

*except for that time you were a week overdue