FIVE

Emma at 2 months old.

Dear Emma Rose,

It has only been 5 short years since you became a part of our family.

Five.  

Oh how those years have gone by in a flash of various shades of pink.

Five seems so big, yet you are still little enough to need help (even when you think you don't). Big enough to pick out your own clothes and dress yourself, and brush your own teeth, and play by yourself, yet small enough to need me when something makes you feel uneasy.

Five, the year that the dark was scary, the year school was amazing, the year you learned to write your whole name, the year we had to go to the library at least twice a week to keep you in books, the year you tried ballet and hip-hop.

At Five you love to cook, get dirty, garden, take baths, not brush your hair, make big messy projects, play dress-up, pet kittens, sleep with all your stuffed animals, play with your friends at school, swim, talk to babies, run, jump in puddles and try just about anything once.

You start each day with unbridled enthusiasm (and often end it that way, much to my chagrin at bedtime.)

Five, Monday- Friday, the days you count down until the "stay-home days" when the whole family can be together.

Five, the number of outfit changes you would go through every day if I pretended not to notice.

At five you keep our home filled with music and dancing and stuffed animals and high-pitched squeals of delight and stickers and art projects and various open lip balms.  

At five you say "I love you" and give and receive kisses and hugs with joy in your heart and a huge grin on your face.

At five your best friend is still your brother (in fact much of your world revolves around Ben and what he is doing.)

At five you make this world a sunnier place and make me feel so very lucky to be your mom.

I love you Emma Rose,

Mom

Emma, age 5.