Greyson Rudy, our five year old

My Greyson Rudy Booboo, 

five.

five!!!!!

five?

We expect so much from you baby, and I know that makes it hard on you.  But you're our oldest and that tends to happen to the first born (me too, buddy).  But the thing is - you deliver, little man.  We ask you to be a helper and a leader around here and you are right there for us nearly every time, being so thoughtful and patient and kind to not only your sisters but to all of us.  

Our little man.

We are so lucky to have you - especially me, my darling, who asks of your own free will sometimes, "How are you doing Mum?  Can I help you so you don't have to do all the hard work and then we can play together?"

You are such an amazing big brother.  It sometimes silences me to see how gentle and patient you are with both of your sisters.  Granted, you tease and fight and argue with them too - but mostly you are more loving to them than I would ever expect or hope.  You jump at the chance to play the hero to Gemma when she feels like being a princess that needs saved, or happy to play as sidekick superheroes with her instead.  More times than I can count, I've walked in on you trying to teach them new words, how to use sports equipment, and offering to share your clothes/shoes/toys so that they can play like you.  They are so lucky to have you, Booboo.  

You are also so foreign to me sometimes; all boy.  You fall into uncontrollable laughter about farts and weenies and poop, but your laugh and huge grins are so joyful that I find my 'sisters-only' mind suppressing laughter most of the time too. A hug from you is to accept a full blown tackle that is delivered at a high speed sprint from across the room with a catapult from the couch arm rest.  It is painful to love you, both metaphorically and literally. You bring exhaustion and new bruises to all of me; my legs from chasing you, my arms from playing catch, my face from taking wrestling blows, and definitely my heart - my first baby, my ever-growing son.

Whatever sports season is currently in session becomes your favorite.  Right now you are baseball obsessed and even better; you're playing on your first real life team for teeball.  So it begins I guess, the years of practices and games and painting your number on our cheeks and the trying to not be the loudest, most embarrassing mom in the stands (don't worry we already designated a secret hand gesture that's meant to let you know that I'd actually really rather be screaming "That's my son!!  I'm so proud of him!!")

You have a body that almost appears to already have somewhere in muscle memory the knowledge of exactly how it's supposed to work.  You, my child, are an athlete at the core of you.  When you are moving your body, you are at your most comfortable.  We are doing our best to try to let you know how proud we are of you without making it seem like that is the best thing about you.  I hope you'll grow to recognize that being a great athlete is awesome and takes hard work, but it's not the most important thing about a person - just like your Daddy - he's a great man because of lots of things even if it seems people associate him with just that one thing.

I am so proud of your eagerness to learn (just like me!) and your ability to make friends (just like Daddy!)  You are constantly trying to make sense of the world; listening closely to everything that is said around you.  You are not only regularly asking us to clarify words and phrases for you ('What does deliberately mean?') but you are also then adding them to your own vocabulary ("Gemma deliberately used my teddy bear without asking me!")  Your huge vocabulary and your manners always have strangers guessing you are actually seven or eight instead of five.  That makes us both proud and weary; don't try to grow too fast, our Booboo!

Last night, you and I took the dogs for an evening walk together - you were happy to come without any hesitation when I asked.  It's unclear if it's because you wanted to spend time alone with me (rare in a house of three kids, one Daddy, and three pets), or if the idea of being in charge of walking Trixie made you feel like a big boy, or if maybe it was just because you were asked and Gemma had to stay home - but whatever your reasoning, we had a comfortable walk together.  We talked about teeball practice and deer trails and how much fun you had playing with your Aunts and Uncles that day.  

When we were about to head home, we stopped and tried to find frogs in a big puddle that was singing so loudly with their chirps it was like we were surrounded by the noise.  The sun was already setting behind a mountain but the clouds were outlined in pink and you were running around trying to use the chirps as frog GPS, and I wasn't worried about your next snack or if you'd be too tired to walk back or if you needed to stop for a potty break or coming up with answers for 35 nonsensical questions.

'Hmm, so this is what it will be like to raise a big kid then', I thought happily.

I will forever be grateful that you were our first, Booboo.

thank you for being our patient, gracious usher into each new phase of parenthood.

we love you.

forever and ever.

even when you keep getting so big.

your mumma.