I’ve just put you to bed, read you your last story as a 3 year old. Tomorrow when you wake up, you are 4.
It’s actually been a long time since I called you Moo. Not long after you turned 3 you announced that Moo is not your name and asked that I call you by your name. Of course, the silliness that is me I always say different versions of your name.
4 has come so quickly. With you 4 seems so much older than it did with your brothers.
I guess one of the things I love now about you being 4 is you don’t remember our previous life. I show you photos of me in our old house (now just your Dad’s house) and you ask me what am I doing in Dad’s house? Then when I say I used to live there you laugh “No, you didn’t Mum, you’ve always lived here”. My mind and heart are at ease for now in that statement. You don’t remember the end. But one day you might long for some memories of Mum and Dad together so that makes my heartache all over again.
At 4 you are so independent and wise. Speaking to you is like speaking to an old soul at times. And I don’t know if you’re psychic or not but some of the conversations:
You: “Mum, is today the last day?”
Me: “The last day of what?”
You: “The last day ever”
and another classic while driving:
You: “Mum your car crashes just up here”
Me: *turns car around and has never driven on that road since*
Over the past 12 months your obsession went from trains to cars. It happened in the blink of an eye. Now everything is about cars and races. Everywhere you go you take a car with you. There are cars everywhere. Of course McQueen is your favourite.
You started pre-school. You have friends. You are obsessed with mud and puddles and dirt. There’s nothing gender neutral about you Moo, you are 100% boy!
Your birthday also marks a huge personal milestone for me each year. My breastfeeding journey began with you when you arrived in a big hurry in the hospital hallway (nearly the front seat of Dad’s new car!) and whilst our journey together ended about 18 months ago your little brother is still going strong.
4 years, Moo. What a blast we’ve had. Now, let’s slow it down a bit because I’m not looking forward to 5. 5 means your not a little boy anymore.
Love you to the moon and back.
Kirsty is the founder of That Noise Is Mine.
An established blogger, writer and business owner raising 4 children independently. Kirsty is determined to succeed in this new life forced upon her.