Turning 4

My oldest child, 

the one who is incredibly relational and wants to know what everyone and everything is experiencing,

the one who wants desperately to follow rules but has the strongest will I've ever witnessed,
(besides my own)

the one that makes me cry out to Jesus for help because it takes so much to parent him,

the one who loves tractors and machinery,

the one who holds the door open for me and Mash and anyone else who needs help,

the one who loves to hear stories about my childhood,

the one who has the gift of affirmation and I see the goodness of God in every day,

yeah that one,

he turned 4.

I love him.

Recently someone told me that children start school when they're 5.
Say what? There's gotta be some sort of mix-up. I thought I had at least another decade.

The news has left a seed of panic in my heart.
And I promised myself I wouldn't do this. I wanted to be a mom who celebrated the different stages of my children's lives. A mom who didn't mourn her children growing. 

But that all feels like a load of crap now that I realize that one day he will be a tall hairy man with a deep voice and he probably won't love it when I squeeze his sugar buns! The horror! He won't squeal with delight when I chase him and act silly. I won't look down and see his sweet little hand in mine when we cross the street.

My nail-beds haven't been the same since.

With that said, I am quite optimistic about the tall hairy man he will become. 

And I'm certainly looking forward to mothering him through the years.
Who knows, maybe he'll still hold my hand every once in a while.