Now we are 6!

I can't believe Apollo is 6. He is madly eating vegetables lately in an effort to outgrow Paris--and I have to say I think it may be working. He is a good 4 inches taller than last year. He wants to be tall so badly, to be big ("Only 3 more birthdays til I'm 10"--creative counting, so he can be older than Paris too). I feel guilty sometimes because I am secretly glad he is still light enough and small enough to carry downstairs in the morning, and lift him off the ground in a bear hug when he comes barreling out of the bus at the end of the day. It's not that I want a baby--oh, heavens, no--it's just that I always knew he was our last, and I want to savor every last drop.

When I had Apollo, 3 years after Paris, I had every intention of rocking him to sleep by the window, gazing down at the street, watching the other children play in the yard. For some reason, I thought 3 years was an eternity between kids--perhaps because the other 3 were all 18 months apart--and I thought I would have all the time in the world to bask in his baby goodness. But I forgot about preschool schedules, and half-day kindergarten, and ballet lessons, and soccer practices, and poor Apollo was rocked to sleep by the car everyday, not by me. Add YW President into the equation and it was Daddy, not me, that took care of him most nights.

Still, my blue-eyed boy, you are loved and cherished

for a face that can write a book with one look

for the quiet perseverance of coloring a page, background and all

for your hugs and your kisses

and yes, even your tears and your growls,

for your insistence for laughter and games,

for eating your vegetables with relish,

for sleeping without blankets,

and hating underwear,

for hiding cereal

and sneaking fruit snacks,

for your passion for parties,

and your ability to hold a grudge.

From the streak of blond in your hair,

to your ears, just a little too big,

to blue eyes and bright smiles,

to your tiny hands tucked into mine,

to your lightning fast legs riddled with bruises,

to your tiniest toes--

I breathe you in,

and taste marshmallows and sunshine.

Happy birthday, Apollo.

Thanks Grandma Pat!

Thanks Aunt Alyssa!

Thanks Grandma Linda!