5: My baby, forever you will be

Dear Little Ring,

The other day you came home with an eraser in hand. You were determined to erase the “white lines” on my legs. You scrubbed and you scrubbed.

“It’s not working,” you said, your eyes wide with confusion.

It took everything I had not to burst out laughing as I explained why stretch marks would not erase away.

Dear child, you crack me up.

Every day.


Little Ring dancing – Elaine style! (Photo courtesy of David Eklof Photography)

Tomorrow you are five years old.

I’m not ready for that.

People warned me the time would go fast. I knew it would. But still, I’m not ready for you to be a big boy.

My baby, forever you will be.


First moments

I don’t want to lose our moments: your squishy hand warm in mine; your emphatic, operatic moowhah smooches; our nose-to-nose kisses; the pointing of your finger to your cheek silently calling on mama for a tender kiss; your Oscarsized hugs; the sweet sound of your voice calling out for mommy; the quirky, newness when you say “awkward” or “well that’s so embarrassing”; your knock-knock jokes that always end in banana; our snuggles.

Oh, those precious snuggles.

I do not live in a dream world. I know one day, maybe even one day soon, those moments will lessen.

Every year, shucks, every day, you grow more independent, more sound of mind, more a boy than a baby. A friend recently told me your voice is maturing; I chose to sing tra-la-laaaa (as you so often do) in my head. So many comment on your intelligence, telling me you are beyond ready for kindergarten; I look at them with pride, but also continue to silently sing tra-la-laaaa. You have been telling me for more than a year now that you are no longer a baby; tra-la-laaaaah.

My baby, forever you will be.


Heart-shaped Little Ring (Photo courtesy of David Eklof Photography)

You have grown so much this year, tall enough to go on the bumper cars, a ride you had anticipated a whole year to go on at Playland after being turned away last year. Seriously, we heard about those cars for months, and you had us measure you on the height scale repeatedly. You were determined.

It was the first ride you went on this year.

But still:

My baby, forever you will be.


You still love the roller coaster the most!

Determination is a common theme of your young life.

When presented an opportunity to go down the water slide at Granville Island earlier this summer, you so desperately wanted to give it a try. That first day you repeatedly walked up those steps only to turn back around, the fear of the unknown holding you back. The second day, again, you walked up those steps countless times, and again turned back around. But then, halfway through the second day, something changed in your eyes. I saw it. I watched you climb those steps. I told your daddy he’s gonna do it. I saw you at the top, I saw that focus on your face. There wasn’t a smile, just sheer determination. You sat your butt down and slid.

The smile on your face as you came through the bottom is a smile I will never forget.

And still:

My baby, forever you will be.


Wish upon a dandelion.

For another of our adventures this summer, you convinced me to rent a bike with a trello attachment so we could ride the Seawall together. But as soon as you were on the bike, you didn’t like the idea of not having control of the brakes.

You like control.

You are stubborn.

You climbed off that bike and sat in the middle of the Seawall’s bike lane with the biggest quivering, pouty lip I have seen to date.

That is NOT a place for a kid, or anyone for that matter, to be sitting.

I told you we’d return the bike and go find a nearby park. This satisfied you enough to get out of the bike lane. As I pushed the bikes up the hill back to the rental place you told me you wanted to sit on the trello attachment. Apparently it was okay as long as I wasn’t on the bike too.

About a minute into the push you exclaimed: “Heyyyy! This isn’t so bad. I can do this. Let’s ride!”

And just like that we spent two hours, you and mama, riding (and getting lost) around the Seawall.

You are not a quitter.


My baby, forever you will be.



That smile, melts me every time.

You watch things so closely, silently trying to master them in your head, whether it’s learning how to golf with granny and grampy, or learning the crab walk at soccer, or how to do a three second head tap while riding your bike at your cycling superhero camp. You like perfection in action. You have a fantastic sense of humour, an infectious laugh, but you are also wary of newcomers. You like playtime with others, but you also like your alone time.

Mornings are not a time for others.

I know you are growing. I love that you are growing. I love that we are now reading Harry Potter, and that you can write your own name, and can count to 100 (I find it especially warming that you get 30 and 50 mixed up). I love that you want to learn new things, and that you ask me about the spellings of words we read in books. I love that you are broadening your vocabulary (I silently laugh, and don’t correct you, when you repeatedly use detached instead of attached). I love your sincerity and interest in my disease. I love how your little mind solves daily puzzles. I love our moments now, and I know I’m going to love our future moments.

And yet, still:

My baby, forever you will be.

Happy 5th birthday my baby bug! Mama loves you! Always ❤

Ps. We’re totally playing hooky from life tomorrow!!!


My baby. My superhero.



One response to “5: My baby, forever you will be

  1. Hey?

    You have SO got it!! 🙂

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