You turn five tomorrow. Your arms and legs are thin and strong, your eyes are so round and large that in my dreams you often appear as an owl. A loud, slightly bossy owl.
As every second born knows, you will be burdened with the story of being the baby, being the squawker, the pesky little brother. My hope for you is that you get to break free from that some day and write your own story.
And it will be hilarious. The amount of energy you can summon to greet “morningtime!” is amazing, the house rings with your cheerful chatter. When you are excited, you get so animated that you literally pat your own legs with a little drum roll, as if your body cannot contain the feeling and it must be released. Charlie, you are the happiest being I have ever known.
And, as my mother says to me each year, I’m so glad I had you.