An Open Letter to My Son on His 4th Birthday
Oliver Douglas—
Just this afternoon, you said the word “vaccine” to me and I hadn’t said it to you first. You are a beautiful, brilliant sponge and I’m so sad for you for the world you’ve had to weather this past year. I know it hasn’t been bad for us and that a lot of good has come out of it—like all your grandparents stalking you and wanting to hang out with you and being closer by—but it still makes me sad that you’re not living in a perfect utopia of my making.
The things you say and the way you think is so impressive to me always. You get so immersed in your projects that it’s hard to convince you to do anything else, but I’ve been working on my deal-making skills. It’s quite possibly because of you that I’ve been writing such better business proposals this year. Thank you for that.
Thank you for your flexibility even within your toddler/ingrained rigidness. You have gone with the flow probably more than you’ve wanted to, but I’ve found that if I talk you through things early and often, you are more open to doing them. I’ve gotten quite a few sideways glances for how much I tell you, but I like doing it our way. If it stops feeling right to us, we can change it.
I could write a whole letter to you about your brilliance and your stubbornness and the ease with which you make friends. I could talk about how you make everything you wear look cool and how your Lego creations are crazy good, especially given your age. I could talk about how it’s only May and you’re already tanner than I will ever be.
But I want to focus more on our dates. I love our dates. I love that you asked to go to the book store and pick out four books for your birthday (CRACK MY HEART WIDE OPEN WHY DON’T YOU?) and that sometimes we leave your dad with your sister while she’s napping and hit up the movie theater for the best hot popcorn in the world and you hold the bag so carefully while you walk back to the car with it and sometimes you even share it with me. I love reading with you and being with you and smelling you and holding you close. You will always be my #1.
Don’t stop being brilliant and curious and thinking deeply. Don’t stop asking questions and holding my hand and showing me what you’re working on. Don’t stop being everything good. I can’t wait to see what you become because who you are now is already mind-blowingly good.
And don’t forget I pushed you for, like, four hours to get you here.
I love you,
Mom
