He's 3

Dear Wyatt,

What kind of words should I use to describe you?

Happy

Kind

Chirpy

Puppy

Daydreamy

Chatty

It's your birthday today! I tried so hard to not let you be born on Halloween. That's why you were born at 11:42 p.m. I held out as long as I could, but you weren't having it. I didn't want you to have to share your birthday with anything else. I still feel a little sorry for you that you have to. I always imagine birthday parties in the future where no one wants any of your birthday cake because they are too full of Halloween candy. Bottom line: I think that you are too special to share your day. But alas, it is what it is.

You are dear to me. You remind me of a pleasant, gentle breeze on a warm day: easy and delightful. One of my favorite things to do is watch you play. You are so content to just lay on the floor, chat with yourself and your toys and daydream. I can't help but wish that I were able to be that content in my own thoughts. It's very sweet.

I'm completely bonkers in love with you. That adorable under bite that makes you look like a bulldog is fitting since you have recently fallen head over heals in love with puppies. I love to watch you tuck all of your stuffed animal puppies into bed and pull the blankets over their heads. I love your pudgy cheeks and thoughtful questions. I love driving down the road and hearing one of these: Are these roads busy? Mom, do you like bananas? Is Colton my best friend? I love it when we sit across from each other at the kitchen table, just you and I, sharing smoothies and Cheetos and practicing winking at each other. Bliss.

I'm such a schmuck. Even as I type I weep. I can't help but feel like I've gotten more than anyone could ever hope or ask for. I feel like the Lord has just heaped happiness at my feet. I love you, Wyatt. I love every little teeny, tiny inch of you. I hope when you are a tween or teenager and go back and read this post it embarrasses you to no end with all of it's sickeningly sweet talk. I can't help myself.

All My Love,

Mom.