Four is very, very loud.
Four is always negotiating one more story or one more episode of Curious George or one more cookie, and it negotiaties with just a hint of chub still left in its cheeks, so you cave as often as you don't because you assume five or six or seven negotiaties with all the chub gone, poof, only to be seen in pictures and blurry memories.
Four is doing a lot on its own. Four is pouring juice and working the remote and packing its own backpack for sleepovers at Nana's yet four still needs you as often as it doesn't. Four asks if you can button a certain pair of shorts and reach the tall shelf.
Four still holds your hand.
Four is starting to spell and read a tiny bit and ask the big questions ("Will Molly always be ours?") and watching the mind of four work is like getting to see a part of yourself you've never gotten to see before. We don't remember our own versions of four, not really, so we look into the only face we know as well as we know our own and think, I bet I asked that same crazy, wild question. Man, life is a trip.
Four can also be frustrating and, let's be honest, kind of irritating. Four asks the same questions over and over and over, and I know that's because four's brain is working at rapid-fire speeds and is just trying to process all this information we throw at it but still OMG YES WE'RE GOING TO THE PARK TOMORROW. Tomorrow! That's when we're going to the park.
"Mommy, are we going to the park today or tomorrow."
"I love you with everything I have, but if you ask me that one more time, Mommy is going to need a serious time-out."
Oh, four.
Four is so damn sweet. Four is concerned about others, four frets when a police car drives by because four "hopes everyone is okay!", four hates when you accidentally step on Molly's foot ("IS SHE HURT?"), four tells you that you are "beauty" and pretty and "the super best" every single day. Four passes a dead bug and says, "I bet that bug's just sleeping." Four holds the hands of babies so gently that you just die, on the spot, because four is sweeter than anything you've ever witnessed before. Man, if we could bottle four and shove it down the throats of politicians, the world would be incredible, wouldn't it?
Four always notices when you're wearing a new dress.
Four just barely fits on your lap but will still try to. You will let four try to fit on your lap every single day of the 365 days that four is four.
Four whines. Oh god, four whines so much you are convinced your ears are literally bleeding at the end of some days, but just as often as four whines, four engages in interesting, funny conversations. Four asks about outer space and what actually happened to dinosaurs and where our family is when we aren't with them. Four says things like, "I love all my family the best because they're mine."
Four laughs completely. What age do we stop laughing with our whole bodies? It's not age four, not yet, thank everything.
More than any other age before four, four enjoys things. Vacations! The beach! Extra dessert! Riding bikes! Pool time with friends! Baseball games! Everything is something to look forward to, and something to talk about, and something to shriek over. I want to plan a million things just to see the light on Kyle's face as he anticipates each one.
I used to think my dad took us for donuts because my dad loves donuts. And maybe that's true, that's actually probably what it was, but I now enjoy the thought that he just really loved the moment he got to tell us that's where we were going. It's so fun, to create fun for four.
You can still pick four up (oh just barely) and four's skinny legs bounce against your knees when you walk and you (oh just barely) remember when those legs were so chubby and instead rested on your stomach and while you really don't know how you got from chubby legs against your stomach to skinny legs bouncing on your knees, you just hope hope hope you can pick four up tomorrow.
You miss the baby, the toddler, the two-year-old, the three-year-old. How could you not? They were all special, they were all unique, they were all so damn fleeting, you cursed time like never before. And, come on, they were all so insanely cute. So cute. The cute I can conjur up just thinking of toddling, 18-month-old Kyle is unreal. And two will always be this for me.
But four. Oh four. Four is...something else.
Four might be the first glimpse of the person who will call home in twenty years. The first glimpse of the friend you hope to have when you're gray. The glimpse of the boy who will become a kid who will become a teenager who will become everything. Four is the person you're raising, not just the baby you're surviving.
Four is the sweetest, funniest, best, most frustrating, coolest person you've ever met and you've met a lot of people in your day.
Four is this boy.
Four just may be my favorite.
(My four needs a haircut, I know, and he's getting one this week.)