Dear Miles,

Seven!

Soon after you were born, I remember thinking that I was so proud to have kept you alive for one month. And at six weeks, your dad and I thought you were such an old baby. And now, seven years have passed.

You're seven years old!

In three years, I'll be marveling at how you are 10. But for now, 7 seems so old.  You are truly a fully formed person. You've got eye rolls and sarcasm and opinions.

Your days are a morass of scheduled events. Piano practice every day except Fridays and Saturdays, martial arts on Tuesday afternoons, piano lessons on Wednesday afternoons, Science Club on Friday afternoons. Therapy every other Wednesday afternoon (before piano lesson). Doctor's appointments. Spelling tests. Neighborhood events (birthdays and block parties and biking and pretending). It goes on and on.

This, like every other year, has been a year of firsts. Reading! Bike riding - no training wheels! Swimming! Therapy! ADHD diagnosis! Video game obsession!

We let you get this video game at Christmas. I don't know if you've heard of it - it's called Minecraft. And it is a part of our daily dialogue. What is so special about the building nature of this game though, is that I can see the physical manifestations of your magnificent brain. Your creations are mind blowing. Truly. Thanks, Minecraft, for a peek into the inner workings of my son's cerebrum. With the uptick of Minecraft conversations, we've seen the disappearance of MegaMiles, a character with a deep backstory and expansive mythology. We will miss you MegaMiles.

School remains a challenge, but we think the medication we started a few months ago has helped you concentrate in the mornings. We love your teacher, Ms. Shelley. She works really hard to help you control your mind and body at school. School is good for you; new ideas come tumbling out of you nearly every day. Learning to read has expanded your world. Your brother loves that you read and loves for you to read to him.

In fact, you've built a pretty strong bond with your brother over the last year. You each think the other is so funny. Will really adores you. It's nice to see you read to him, share with him, and laugh with him.

You've never been much of a snuggler, at least not for me. (Your dad swears you were always a good snuggler for him). Although I do appreciate a good snuggle, you are excellent at showing your affection in other ways. When we sit near each other, you move your body so our backs touch, or your leg touches mine. Sometimes, especially in the evening, when you're weary from your long day, from your unending activities, you sigh out, "I love you, mom." And in those moments, I have no doubt that you really, really do.

Miles, my first born son, you made me into a mother just before mother's day. And you push and challenge me each day as I grow and evolve as a mother. I hope you don't have any doubt that I love you. Because I really, really do.

Love,
Mom

Dear Will,

You are three years old! Happy Birthday! It seems too soon for three. I can't believe you're going to start school in just a few months!

There is so much I love about you! You yell a big "Mama!" when I come home from work each evening. And you ask me to come "to here" when we're on FaceTime. You ask me not to go "a work" every day. You give great big bear hugs that make all my tension melt away. You tell me I'm your best friend. High fives and group hugs and kisses are routine in our house.

You're a silly kid. Always laughing and mimicking and giving sideways glances. You have the best facial expressions and everyone who meets you loves you. You're wild like your brother, jumping and climbing, and falling. You've always got a bruise or scrape somewhere on that active body of yours.

You're almost entirely perfect! But if you don't eat enough dinner, you're crabby in the morning, shakey and unreasonable from low blood sugar. And if we have to wake you up from your nap early, sometimes not much will make you feel better.

You love books and puzzles and diggers and spiderman. You're starting to develop a whole world of make believe. We are often told that you're not Will, you're blue spiderman boom boom. You used to be red spiderman boom boom. But all things change. Just like you.

You have an empathy that I didn't know was possible in little little kids. We were listening to your current favorite song "Bohemian Rhapsody" the other day and you couldn't help but start crying, big tears, crumpled face, when Freddie sang:

Mama, ooohooh
Didn't mean to make you cry
If I'm not back again this time tomorrow
Carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters

I don't miss much about having a little baby Will but I do miss snuggling a tiny body at night. Sometimes, rarely, you still need some comfort in the wee hours. Take the other night for instance - you woke at 2am crying out for daddy and me. I heard you, a room away, your voice carrying over the sound machine next to my head and pulling me through my slumber to wakefulness. I walked down the hall and took your little hand in mine and we crawled into your bed. You stopped crying immediately as our hands touched. You settled in next to me, an elbow or foot always touching me, making sure I didn't go. After your breath settled, grew even and measured, and I knew you were back to sleep, I rolled over, kissed you and told you I was going to go. You said, "Ok" and back to sleep you went, fully satisfied that someone was there to care for you.

As you grow older and need me less and less for middle of the night fears, I hope you know that I'll still always care for you.

Love,
Mama