DadaMama: Two Squared

Dear Will,

Tomorrow you turn four years old. Did you know that four is the first non-prime number? Me neither. In fact, I'm ashamed to admit that I have no idea what a prime number is. Perhaps I should have paid more attention in math class? Yes, I should have. What's funny about this story was that if I told you that four was a non-prime number, you would simply say, "I know."

Another fun fact: four is the number of knees that elephants have. They are the only creature on the planet that can claim this distinction. I am slightly weirded out by this, but you probably already know. Four, apparently, is the age at which One Knows Everything. Four is also the age of: Incessant Whining, Clenching One's Fists When Angry, Talking About Butts, Using "Weiner" To Describe One's Private Parts, and Refusing to Eat Breakfast Cereal.

Holy schnike, you're getting big. Your feet are almost as big as your brother's, and he's two whole years older. Speaking of your brother--you adore him. You want to be just like him and you're pretty sure that his ideas are the BEST ideas. In fact, when I asked you what you wanted for your birthday, you quickly rattled off a list of all the things that Gus got for his birthday. The only thing that has changed about this hero worship in the last year is that you've really stepped into the Annoying Little Brother role and made it your own. I have personally witnessed you manipulating your brother to get what you want. You're frighteningly good at it, in your quiet way.

What's fabulous about you is how you've also stepped into your role as A Big Brother. You take special care of Superbaby. If you have crackers, you share. If he wants your Matchbox car, you give it to him. You help him climb on the couch and you pick him up when he falls down. When he wakes up crying, you run to his crib and start tossing toys in until he's happy again. This is no doubt how I came to find Superbaby standing on top of a giant stuffed dog, a monkey, a bear, a stuffed snake, a shape sorter, three pacifiers and four blankets. Those are the things you thought might make him feel better.

Will, I think you're the perfect middle child. Aunt Jacqui was saying that about you before we even thought about Superbaby, and she was right. You're like the cream in our Oreo--without you, the cookie would be a little less sweet, and it certainly wouldn't stay together. Without you, our little family just wouldn't be the same.

So this is what four looks like (for the record, that's your self-proclaimed "Rock N' Roll Pose," and you are one handsome guy). It's going to be a big year, I can tell. A couple of days ago I told you that you weren't allowed to turn four, and that you would have to stay three forever. I wish I could bottle three-year-old you, but you said, "No, Mom, I have to get bigger!" That right there is the knowing you were born with, that some things are just the way they are, and why fight it? When I asked you what you would do when you got bigger, you said, "I will tell people not to hit each other and that they have to share stuff." That sounds like a plan to me.

Love,

Mama