Brooklyn At 4.

Dear Brooklyn,

Today your turned 4.
I can hardly believe it.
I remember the day you were born with such distinct clarity. It was overcast and I felt huge.
My ankles were swollen and your dad made a comment about me looking like a specific cartoon character. I laughed hysterically and then cried for an hour until I honestly forgot what I was crying about.
When I went into the hospital, the nurse at the front desk took about 15 minutes to check me in. She thought I was faking because I hadn't had any contractions. I glared at her and smartly replied that I had had 4 since we had been there. She started typing a little faster after that.
We watched football in the delivery room.
I worried that I would be a terrible mother because even though they told me I couldn't eat, I would have given anything for a DQ Mint Oreo Blizzard.
I ate ice chips and prayed you would get my nose and your dad's brain.
I pushed 3 times.
And you were here.

And that was the day that everything changed.

We took you home and the first drop of snow fell as we got you out of the car.
We fought over who got to hold you that night.
I won.
(I won a lot more arguments after you were born.
Thank you very much.)

For the first couple of days, I just stared at you. I couldn't help myself.
My very favorite times were when you woke up in the middle of the night and I got to feed you.
Just us.
There was something so indescribably cute about you in those moments. I'll never forget it. You reminded me of a baby dinosaur. I told my mom this and she said she completely agreed.
And then you grew.
And grew.
And grew.
And today you turned 4.

Here's a little about you right now.

You are
HAPPY.
All the time. It is so easy to please you. Today you and Aubrey played with a light up stick and a carton of eggs for over an hour. Like I said, you're easy to please.

You are
DRAMATIC.
You just learned how to pout. You have mastered the art of flailing when you are pushed. (Seriously, you could teach an NBA seminar on this.) You love creating a false sense of danger. (Dragons, Monsters, Crocodiles... you're always running/hiding from something.)

You are
CARING.
You worry about how everyone's feeling and show genuine concern for people who are sad.

You are not
SHY.
You have zero separation anxiety. A few days ago you were headed to a friend's house for a play date and in your lunch prayer you said, "...and please help mom not to stay at Katelyn and Kylie's house while we play. And please help us to just play at their house by ourselves."
Thanks, kido.

You are
A DOG.
You're convinced of this. And in all fairness, you do a darn good dog impression. You will not wear certain outfits because you "can't be a dog in them." All your jeans have holes in the knees and all the kids at recess treat you like you are their pet. If it weren't so cute, it'd be disturbing.

You Are
NEVER SERIOUS.
Which is actually quite refreshing.

You Are
NAKED.
All the time.
You have absolutely no shame.

You are
ALWAYS AIRBORNE.
If there is something... you will be jumping off of it.

You Are
A TOMBOY PRINCESS.
You wear dresses while playing in the sand.
You watch sports while painting your fingernails.
You talk about how much you wish you could pee standing up.

You Are
A CANDY-AHOLIC.
"Enough" is not even in your dictionary.

You Are
VERY SPECIFIC ABOUT YOUR HAIR.
If it gets in your eyes, you act possessed.
I can only do it the way you specify each morning.
Bows/headbands last a maximum of 52 seconds.
On a good day.

You Are
PERFECT.
in every. single. way.
We love you.
Happy Birthday Brooklyn.