Dear Sonny,

Today, you are five. It’s not lost on me that you’ll likely not remember our family ever being anything other than it is today. We were looking at photos the other day, like we do before one of you turns another year older, and you were surprised to see your Papa in our photos, in our home. I had to remind you that at one time, our family looked different than it does today. And that’s okay. I remind myself when I remind you.

I used to feel a lot of grief about the fact you wouldn’t remember the “before”. Now, it brings me some comfort. A blank slate. Less lost.

You’re graduating from the age that I remember to be the hardest of all and we’re welcoming the hope that 5 will bring less tantrums, greater self-restraint, more understanding.

I asked your brothers what their favorite thing about you is and they both said that they love that you skateboard with them. Van added that he loves when you “cooperate”. Both of them hate when you scream.

You love the pool and are now able to swim. You eat copious amounts of salami and watermelon. You hate Jimmie but love the cats. You tolerate having your hair braided and let me trim your hair, too. You ask to play hide n’ seek daily and always hide in the same spot, under my bed.

You’re learning to make sense of boundaries and need reassurance often that rules don’t mean I don’t love you but rather the opposite. We hug our way through the hardest of life’s lessons.

You still sleep in my room. I have mixed feelings about it.

Your uncle Chris recently described you as “authentic” and it’s stuck with me the way truths tend to embed, ingrain. You’re true and pure and warm. You’re also loud and strong-willed and figuring out what’s acceptable.

I wanted you. I fought to have you. And I’m so happy you’re here. May you always know you’re loved, wanted, and accepted.

Happy Birthday.