Letter Four

Dear Luke,

You have stopped saying taytee for tasty and holy moke! for holy smokes!. You no longer talk about Cookie Punk, preferring instead the more staid Cookie Monster. You've long since traded in Ah la la for I love you. And it makes me a little sad to know these small bits of you are gone for good. Don't get me wrong: you continue to amaze your dad and me (and oh, let's face it, everyone whose path you cross) with your delight and your charm. But still: those things are gone from me forever, and that tiny boy is no longer quite so tiny.

You move so quickly that sometimes I'm strangely surprised to come home and find that you're still in diapers, still less than three feet tall, not reading, not riding a bicycle. And I'm glad: there is so much baby to hold onto yet.

And the rest of it will be just as good, I know.

I love you, sweet boy.

Mama