Dear Number 6

Dear Number 6,

There is a spot in your baby book for me to write a letter to you.

Okay… I lied.

I haven’t actually purchased a baby book for you.

But there is a spot in your older brothers’ and sisters’ baby books, and one of these days I plan on actually getting one for you too.

And when I do, that spot for the letter will be there.

I have put a lot of pressure on myself to write these letters to you and your siblings.   I mean, there’s only one page. So it’s gotta be good.

It has to be like the letter of all letters.

So I haven’t ever really written one of those letters when you guys were little babies.

I kind of just wait until I know it’s the right time.

And today, it’s the right time for yours.

Your birthday is in ten days.

I could wait until then. But then today won’t be so fresh in my mind. And I don’t want to forget how I feel.

Today was your last day of preschool.

And I’m feeling pretty sad today about how quickly you are growing up.

Last week I pretty much couldn’t wait for you to grow up because you have been driving me completely insane.

But this week?

This week I want to keep you just the way you are.

And I need to tell you how proud I am of you.

When I brought you to preschool for the first time almost two years ago, you were so freaking cute.

But you were also really freaking shy.

Like really, really, really shy.

Armed with your blankie, I brought you into school.

You cried.

A lot.

Every day when I dropped you off, you cried.

Every day when you had a transition from one class to another, the teachers told me you cried.

Your buddy, Mrs. M would come hang out with you. She would take you for a little walk to help you calm down.

When it was time for you to go to music, your teachers told me you really had a hard time.

When you moved from one activity to snack you would cry again. From something else to story time on the rug, again, you would cry.

That’s when your other buddy Mrs. Bwooks would make you feel better.

You would sit on her lap. She made you feel safe.

I wondered how long it would take for you to adjust.

Being a headstrong and determined little boy with a blankie, it took a few months for the crying to stop and for you to move from one activity to the next without getting upset.

You made it through the rest of the year just fine.

You didn’t have any buddies. You didn’t want to play with the other kids in class.

You might sit near other kids and parallel play, but that was about it.

You were happy, but you just weren’t ready to hang out with other kids yet.

This year started off a little better.

You were still shy, but as long as we did the same drop off routine, you were fine.

Kiss. Hug. Knuckles. High Five.

Sometimes we had to do it twice, but as long as we started off with that, you were good to go.

And the shyness didn’t last too long.

In fact, you made a best fwend this year.

And when I went to your conference with your teacher do you know what she told me?

She told me that sometimes you talked so much to your friends that she had to tell you to be quiet!

So I didn’t mind. I was pleasantly surprised and really proud of how far you had come.

But I wasn’t half as surprised as I was on your Portfolio Day last week.

That’s kind of like your preschool graduation.

It started off with your class singing some songs.

You all entered the room through a door in the front of the class and lined up in front of the parents.

And you belted out This Land is Your Land, and Uno, Dos, Tres Mariposas, and Skinnamirinky Dinky Dink like I have never heard any of the kids sing before.

Not even Number 4 at her Portfolio Day.

And she was seriously singing.

In fact, you sang so loud that Grammy. Papa, and I couldn’t even tell if any of the other kids in your class were actually making any noise.

You were unbelievable, and you totally shocked me. You shocked all of us actually.

You went from crying and not wanting to leave your classroom to go to music class to being a total rock star.

You were awesome.

And I laughed until I cried.

But I didn’t cry nearly as hard as I did today.

Today I bawled my brains out, from the moment I dropped you off until the moment I picked you up.

Things get pretty crazy around the end of the school year. For all families, but especially ours.

There are portfolio days and concerts and class parties and field trips and field days and all sorts of stuff.

So I knew it was your last day of school today but things have been so hectic that it didn’t really register. It didn’t really click that I was going to pick you up at preschool today for the last time.

Ever.

And that the day that really really makes me cry, the day you walk on the bus for the first day of kindergarten is not too far behind.

I’ve cried on that day for all the kids, but for you, well, I might cry a little harder.

Because you are my little man.

You are funny and smart and cuddly.

You can’t say your r’s, and to be honest, I don’t weally want you to learn how to say them any time soon.

You know how to work my phone way better than I do, you have a memory that is kind of scary, and you want me to put you to bed. Every night.

And no matter where you are in the house, you check in every fifteen minutes or so.

Mommy? Mommy???

Yes?

I love you sooo much.

I will never ever get tired of hearing that.

But I am afraid that you will get tired of saying it.

With the end of preschool comes the fear that you will grow up and the number of I love you so muches are finite.

And I dread the day that they stop.

Because I love you so much.

I don’t know if I’m doing this whole mom thing correctly.

I really hope I’m giving you everything you need to be successful and happy.

I was a little worried in those first few months of preschool when you were three.

But you taught me one thing this year.

Actually, you taught me two things.

One, you walked into that school on the first day with your blankie, and you walked out of that school on the last day with your blankie.

You may look the same on the outside. But a whole lot has changed on the inside. It’s easy to forget that sometimes.

And two, you have been wearing the same pair of sneakers for two years now, and I think it’s probably time that we get you some new ones.

If you are all grown up when you are reading this, I want you to know that you will always be my little guy holding his blankie.

Always.

I am so proud of you, Number 6.

And I love you. So, soooo much.

Thank you for making me Number 1!

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