Tomorrow you'll be 6. It doesn't seem like that's right. I look at you and I still see my smushy little brand new baby, though I'll admit that you really aren't as smushy now as you were then... You're a little bit taller. And your hands aren't so tiny anymore (I always notice that when you hold my hand). And you definitely have more hair on top of your head.
In Sandra Cisneros' story "Eleven," the narrator talks about how no matter how old you are, you're still all the other ages, too. And that's what I see in you. I see you as a baby, colicky and gassy, but cuddly and smushy. I see you as a toddler, chasing after your daddy and wanting to be his constant helper. I see you as a preschooler, loving your trains and trucks and playgrounds and chalk. I see you now, a little boy, who can't get enough Halloween, who is starting to read, and who is always wanting us to guess your animal.
I love that you're still willing to climb into our laps for a snuggle. I love that you want to play games of Uno with us. I love that you take such joy in decorating for every holiday. I love that you want to read non-fiction. I love how you love your little brother. You make us proud every day, sweet boy. You're our best Jacob. We'll love you forever. Happy 6th birthday.
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