Bub is now a four-year old. I want to say he’s officially no longer a toddler, but I think that ship sailed when he started school this past fall and became a preschooler. When I think of four years, I think of how I measured my coming-of-age years. The difference between a freshman and a senior is vast. The variance between baby Bub and kid Bub is baffling.
Having a kid has changed my perspective of time. How much G is transforming in her first year is overwhelming. How much Bub has grown in the past year is mind-boggling. I don’t understand how, with kids, time moves slow and fast at the same time.
Bub has 365 days of being four. It feels like a long time when I put it in those terms. But, I know it’ll fly by. Four years ago, he was born. In another four years, he’ll be in second grade. Two years after that, he’ll be 10. And then he’s only a few years away from being a teenager. Most people would say, “Duh Linda, that’s how time works.” To which I’d say, “I don’t like it!”
The week before Bub’s birthday, I found myself hugging him more, staring at him longer. The weekend before, he got up from bed in the mornings without crying, helped make tea and coffee, and entertained G while I cooked. He waited quietly outside G’s room while I nursed her and patiently played with his toys by himself when he’d see me talking to Steve. Knowing that he’s turning four has lit a fire within him to be more independent. He insists on doing things on his own. I know he’s capable. It’s me who needs to get out of the way.
From year three to year four, Bub:
Learned to put on his shirt and pants
Learned to put on his socks, shoes, and coat when he leaves the house
Has grown four inches
No longer takes regular naps
Can read and write his own name
Can do simple math
Can think creatively and strategically
Became a big brother
He loves dance parties and chocolate and telling jokes. Gosh, he is just such a joy to be around. He’s fun and hilarious and thoughtful. He’s the best parts of us.
The day of his birthday, I found myself stressing over making a beautiful cake (that split and fell apart), getting a photo of us in our party hats (that we forgot to put on), taking a video of us singing ‘happy birthday’ to him (that we never captured). While I ran around the kitchen frantically, I had to remind myself that it’s not about me. Bub could care less about any of these things. Am I being present with him? Am I letting him eat the cake? That’s all he cares about.
One of the most significant observations I made this past year is that he is no longer a passive stakeholder in this family. He is a voting member of the board, who needs to be heard and whose opinions can sway the decisions we make.
You want milkshakes and chocolate cake on your birthday? You got it, Bub.
