My darling baby boy is four today.
Of course, I'm not allowed to call him my darling baby boy anymore (despite the fact that he is) because he insists he's not a baby.
Which, ::sigh:: I agree - you are not. And that's why I've been bursting in tears all day today. I'm sorry for crying on your birthday.
(Yeah, I agree. Holding up four fingers takes quite a bit of concentration. I guess we should have practiced that some more, but I've been in denial.)
You're hella funny, making up jokes (mostly involving poop and butts - we need to work on your jokemaking skills man), keeping everyone in their place and being very particular about things (sorry about passing along the OCD).
You are very excited to be going to preschool in September ("how long till tept-tember mama?") and you are completely obsessed with whales. And elephants. And dinosaurs. And Finding Nemo. And Star Wars. And going to the pool and playing outside and doing all the awesome things that you do.
I love you Darwin. Without you, life wouldn't be complete. Happy Birthday, my sweet Papooshka!
(Sorry for giving you a nickname that means "little penis," it most certainly wasn't intentional).