Seven.

Dear Miles,

For the last seven years, I've sat down on your birthday and written a letter. And every time, I type and type and type, then hit backspace and delete a few words and eventually start over. I’m already on my third “reset” and I’m forcing myself to push forward and not think, just feel. One day I’ll learn to put all of my thoughts down as I have them and not try to recall everything at one moment. I’ve written this letter several times in my head already but now I’m struggling to find the words I want to share with you. You see, for the last seven years, I’ve watched you. I’ve watched you grow. I’ve watched you learn. I’ve watched you become, well… you.

You are my little man who just keeps growing and now you’re seven. If you could have turned on the turbo blasters and went into warp speed mode to get to today, you would have. You have been anxiously awaiting this birthday. I’m not sure if it’s because you want to be seven or because you REALLY want a new Star Wars Lego set. The jury is still out but I am leaning heavily toward one side. 

I know it’s normal for kids to wish for their birthday. To wish it would “just get here” faster and faster each year. It’s cool to have a birthday. (Well, at least it is now.) I’m not sure why but this your first birthday that I can feel a bit of a lump in my throat. When I look at you, I see my baby, but my baby is no longer there. You’ve even reminded me once or twice that you are no longer a baby. And you’re right. You haven’t been for some time, but there was something comforting in knowing you were only in kindergarten. But now the school year is over and you’re heading into first grade in less than two months. I have a first grader… you. Gulp. 

You have grown up SO much over the last year. You lost your first tooth. You learned to ride your bike without training wheels. You are officially a reader. You’ve memorized anything associated with Star Wars—you school both Daddy and I on who’s who constantly. Even your love of baseball has strengthened (but you could care less about your Miguel Cabrera autographed baseball—one day you’ll want it but I’ll keep it safe until then). Your favorite songs are Watch Me, Fight Song, and Let it Flow (a Star Wars parody of Frozen’s Let it Go) but Kid Rock is still your favorite artist. If you hear just a note of any of these songs you’re on your feet and dancing to the rhythm. Daddy just admitted that he thinks we need to find a Hip Hop dance class for you. You’ve also become a little travel bug. Our recent trip to San Francisco may go down as one of your favorites. Your favorite part was just dipping your feet into the ocean and chasing waves. It didn’t matter that the water was freezing or that you were drenched from head to toe. You did not want to leave the beach. You seem to have the same love of the water that I do.

Melina adores you and, for the most part, you adore her. The two of you are in a constant “monkey see, monkey do” cycle. You jump, she jumps. You dance, she dances. She just wants to do whatever you are doing and it drives you bonkers at times. But, you know exactly how to get under her skin and don’t hesitate to do it if she’s walking the line with you. The two of you truly love each other and when you have sleepovers together, you often fall asleep with your hands intertwined. It melts my heart. 

Miles, you are my little man and the first to call me mama. You are my sunshine. Happy birthday, baby boy. 

Love,

Mommy