Five on you looks like holes in the knees of every pair of pants you wear -
hands on, knees on, down and dirty with life.
It looks like a boy’s face, with a baby’s eyes -
wonder, mischief, soaking it all in.
Five looks tall and strong…
and tender, and needy.
Five looks like mealtime struggles and boo boo snuggles.
Like a monkey on acid at 6pm.
It looks like a mean struggle to be independent.
It looks like a deep need to be taken care of.
Five tells a lot of poop jokes…
followed by fart jokes.
Five looks like backpacks and school.
Like pinky swears and negotiations.
Five on you looks like a proud big brother, and an irritated past only child.
It looks like wit and a sharp sense of humor, with candy and sprinkles in between.
It sounds like whispers of “I love you, Mommy”, and screams of “I can do it by myself!”
It gives you permission to run farther away, and an eternity passes before you look back to see if I’m still there.
Five sounds like questions questions questions.
It sounds like even more questions.
Five on you is a fascination with the weather, a love of numbers,
and wanting to use the men’s room instead of the ladies’ room with mommy.
Five looks too big for my arms to hold,
but has never kept me from trying.
Five on you looks beautiful…
and smacks of the passage of time.
Five says goodbye to being a baby, and embarks on the journey into true kid-dom.
Five on you
is hard on me…
In the most naturally exquisite way.
Take five by storm.
and don’t forget to look back to see if I’m still there…
because I always will be.
Happy Birthday, my son.