My Patrick. My sweet pea. My munchkin. He supposedly turned 4 yesterday, but it could not possibly have happened. He was just born! And yet, it feels like he's been in our lives forever. I don't really remember what we did before he was here, to love and hug and laugh and cry with us.
To read bedtime stories and rediscover the joy of simple things like Playdoh and race car tracks, and building forts out of pillows and blankets next to the bed.
To say "I love you, Mama" and give Jason big hugs and kisses to wake him up in the mornings.
To snuggle next to him when we say our bedtime prayers and make his hair stand up on end when he's in the bathtub.
To go to to the park and the zoo, and birthday parties at fun places like the children's museum.
To blow raspberries on his stomach and flip him upside down, just to hear him giggle.
To watch him learn to dress himself and figure out the letters of the alphabet.
To hear him tell me all about the Jewish holidays and see how much he loves to go to school.
To hear the joy in his voice when he opens up drums that he's been asking for since his previous birthday.
To play Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders and Hungry, Hungry Hippos.
To hear him tell stories about "little Patrick", who lives with "little Mama, little Daddy, little Caesar, and little Neitzsche", and all of their adventures together.
To hear him plan for the future, like being 5 and being able to chew gum.
To know that we are the luckiest of parents to have such a sweet and wonderful son. I don't remember the days before him, because they paled in comparison to the days since he came into our lives.
Happy birthday, baby.