“When I turn five,” you say, “I will go to a new school.”
“I will play tennis.”
“My feet will touch the floor when I sit down.”
“I will be a daddy!”
“When I turn five,” you say, “I will ride the Ferris wheel.”
“And, Reid will be four. When I am five.”
When you turn five, I will celebrate my fifth anniversary of being a mother.
I will realize that in 13 short years, you will be flying from this Hawks Nest.
I will know that I have done my best for you for five years, but promise to do even better, to work even harder at this most important job of mine – being your mother.
When you are five, I will wonder why time passes by so fast. I will laugh at the clichés and embrace them. And curse time.
I will remember what it was like to see you, to hold you, for the first time. Probably most especially when I drop you off at Kindergarten on your first day there. And I will size your new teacher up and say a little prayer that she is the best, most qualified, accomplished and award-winning Kindergarten teacher in the whole world.
I will watch your unique personality continue to blossom and be so proud that you are your own person. I will hope I’ve had something to do with it. And I will realize that I’ll have that same hope for the rest of your life.
I will worry about whether you are getting enough nutrients, whether we’re too involved with technology and not enough with nature, whether we have you in the right amount of extracurricular activities.
I will look at you and marvel at how far we’ve come in these few years together.
I will love you with my whole heart. Just like I do today. Just like I will when you are 50.
When you are five.