Four.

In 2008, we watched the Olympics in Beijing together and saw Michael Phelps swim for gold eight times. Or more accurately, I watched while you nursed and slept. You were just days old, so you didn’t really have much appreciation for sports. Four years later, Michael Phelps is still swimming for gold, but now you can swim too. You jump into the pool and doggie-paddle to the nearest adult, laughing the whole way. Never mind that your wide-open mouth always fills up with water; you can’t help the joy you feel.

Laughter is your lifeblood, whether you’re doing it yourself or eliciting it from others.

For most of the last year, you wore outrageous costumes, though lately you’ve taken a break (unless the orange basketball outfit you’re wearing to camp every day counts, and it probably does). You love to cook and bake. You can put together puzzles and build castles out of blocks. Your attention to detail is amazing. When you grow up, I think you might be a costume designer. Or a comedian. Or a professional hugger (Audrey, reading over my shoulder, tells me that “professional hugger” sounds shady and illegal, so maybe not that).

You are the warmest, sweetest, most genuine little boy. You love to be held; to give kisses; to sneak into our bed in the middle of the night; to sing. You’re so independent, you’ll wake up, brush your teeth, get dressed and gather your bathing suit and towel for camp before you even wake me up. You are easily the most organized person in our family.

Today, I brought you a plate of cupcakes with a candle, and we all sang “Happy Birthday.” After you made your wish, and before you chose a cupcake, you turned to me and kissed me. “I love you, Mom,” you said. “You’re the best mom in the world.” And then I melted into a puddle on the floor.

Is it any wonder I’m totally crazy about this kid? Happy birthday, Zev!

See also:

Welcome to the world, Baby Boy

One.

Two.

Three.

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