In three days, my little goober turns 5.
This is not new or surprising information. I’ve only blogged about it maybe 6 or 7 times now. But birthday number 5 feels a lot like birthday number 1, and perhaps for good reason.
The first birthday, for mom and dad, is largely about survival. Or, having survived. The first year of your first born’s life is often equal parts bliss and oblivion; and the celebration of the first year encompasses each of those emotions.
But the fifth birthday; this one wraps up the first few years in a bow. It sets our little ones right up for kindergarten, and reminds us, quite often by way of a well-executed blow of smart sassiness, that the times, they are-a-changin’.
Five year olds are people. They have thoughts of their own, ideas of their own, and what I can only assume is the beginning of an internal dialogue on the world.
This is alarming.
All these years we have held her and paddled her little feet out to the edge of the branch, and jumped back. And then we stepped forward again, tapped her on the little head, scurried her out to the edge of the branch again, and tip toed back.
And now, it is safe to say…. the tricycle in our backyard is obsolete. The alphabet puzzles are no longer a fun challenge. The sippie cups stand, stagnant, in the cabinet. It takes a full twenty minutes to find a wipe in this house now. The swingset in the backyard no longer looks so looming. Story time at the library is just another opportunity for her to pull out her school skills. And these are good things. These are the things we live for when we become parents, the notion that while time marches on, we have prepared them for it.
Well. Kind of. Because after all, this is only test #1.
Happy 5th birthday to our baby girl. I mean big girl. I’m sorry; young lady.
To my kid.
To my whole heart.
To my husband and I.
We have fed her and bathed her and kept her warm and dry for five years now.
Remember when day one seemed so daunting? We did it.