An Open Letter to My Son on His 5th Birthday
Young Oliver Douglas—
You are so grown. You have decided where you want to go to school next year, against my projected better judgment. You have gained so much confidence and started speaking up for yourself in big ways. You build the coolest things: relationships, superhero LEGOS, stories. Every day, I am more and more impressed. And, as you might know, I am not a person who is easily impressed. Except, of course, by you.
I know that you are going to do and be big things in the world, in a way that is quietly confident, that is consistent, and chill. You will never have to tell people who you are because you will constantly awe them by showing them. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen people’s eyes widen at your magnatile creations, your 12+ LEGO sets, and your ability to just hang.
From the day you came into the world, you have been the best thing.
I tell you this often, but I want to reinforce that if it weren’t for you, my business wouldn’t exist—not only because you kicked me in the uterus to get out of my own way, but because you were the easiest baby man at the beginning of it. You chilled on the boob for hours and then napped for hours more, you swung in your swing contentedly, you played in your play table for big periods of time.
You love superheroes and the planets and Encanto, and you have deep knowledge of everything that interests you. You’ve taught me so much already—about so many things.
I plan to take you on so many dates and show you as much of the world I love as I can. You are my best travel buddy. And, I never want your chillness to be mistaken for weakness. You are always allowed to use your stubbornness and your voice to tell people what’s what, even me. Even when I don’t like it. But, I’m still your momma, and I’m mostly still the boss.
I can’t wait to see what this next year brings for you as you go out into the world in KINDERGARTEN and make more friends and learn more things.
I am forever impressed by you. My heart is always swollen for you. I believe in everything you are, everything you wish to be, and everything you will become.
(Except maybe an astronaut—too far from me…or if you wanted to be a raccoon rescuer or something. I draw the line at those things.)
I love you,
Mom
