Four years ago, it was another grey February day. I was nearing the 17th hour of labor and wondering if I was ever going to have a baby.
Three hours later, I had him and it seemed like he'd always been here.
These past four years, I've yelled more than I ever intended. I fed him more sugar than I should. I've lost my patience and found frustration too often.
But I've also found laughter, hugs, and a reason to get out of bed each and every morning. As we closed in from two to three, I could see that the threes were going to be terrifying and tumultuous. And they were. But closing in on the fours, I see that they're going to be fierce and fabulous.
The constantly asserted independence has calmed down a bit. The temper tantrums? I hardly remember them (except that Tommy throws approximately 25 a DAY so it's not like I could really forget). Instead I have a little boy who owns his opinions. A little boy who tells me I look beautiful almost every single day. A little boy who hands me his very own camera and tells me to take his birthday picture, while rocking this pose:
A little boy who had a last minute downsized birthday party but still declared it to be the best party ever
Who blew out his candle, then told us that we needed to clap for him
It's going to be a good year.