And then I promptly walked into my room and cried. You see, when Milo wakes up today, he will be four. (Well, technically he won't be four until 10:04, but am I one to split hairs? As a matter of fact, I am...) While I absolutely adore birthdays and think that everyone should be the center of the world on theirs, something about my babies getting bigger hurts my heart.
It's bittersweet, these little people growing older. I can't believe what a smart, funny, genuinely compassionate and sweet-natured little man Milo is becoming (or I guess he's been that all along and it just manifests more and more as gets older). And let me mention briefly that he is by far the handsomest little boy I have ever seen. But I still look at his baby pictures and tear up, and I think it's because I know that the older they get, the more I have to let go. And that's natural and right, but it doesn't make it any easier.
When we brought Milo home from the hospital, I remember thinking that there was no way this perfect little creature was ours. I also remember thinking, "So I can just walk out of here with this little person? Should I be allowed to?" Sweet Milo. He has survived. He has thrived, in fact, and so have we. And I'm not sure who has learned more over the last four years, Milo, or Nate and I.
I'll tell you what I've been singing to Milo every day since he was teeny tiny. "Oh Milo Milo, my little peanut, I love you more and more every day. Oh Milo Milo, you're getting bigger, but my little peanut you will always stay." It's true, and I am the luckiest lady alive.
Happy birthday, Milo!
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