I had another thought.
Last night, I posted, logged off, and went to bed - where my brainwaves continued despite my strong desire to become immediately comatose.
I thought about why I always seem to be sad when Sawyer has a birthday, why Saturday night I went into his room and watched him sleep for his last few moments of Five.
With every year that passes, the more separate he is from me. He can already dress himself, brush his teeth, turn on the tv, pour his milk, even run into his classroom by himself on a rainy-day, curbside drop-off.
He shakes off my hand if I try to hold it longer than just across the street.
Soon he will be locking himself in his room and communicate only via grunts. He will not need me, not in the way he does now. And of course this is a great thing, it is a mark that I am raising an independent, self-sufficient child.
Right now I'm thinking he'll never be Five again. Was this the best Five possible for him? Childhood is so short. So precious.
Will he look back later and remember that this was the year where our family changed, when X entered the world and his mother became the Grumpiest Mom Ever? Will he remember his trip to the hospital for his allergic reaction, or being sent to his room. Again.
Or will he remember playing til dark with the kids in the neighborhood, trips to the beach, the zoo, the aquarium, making new friends at school, and, yes, even having fun with his sister, new brother and Daddy and Mommy?
He might not recall many specific events, but he will remember whether he was happy.
I make a conscious effort to savour this time with X. I need to remember to do it with my older kids, too.
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