Four

While you wouldn't immediately think it to be, the fourth birthday really feels like a milestone.  It's not like Finn can now buy beer (except in south Florida, where he's been legal for two years), but he's no longer a toddler.  He's now a 100% little boy.

That's really sad.  How much longer will I be able to just pick him up and tickle him or kiss him all over his face without him punching me in mine?  Given my lack of gym-time recently, I'm guessing not much longer.

Dear Fourth-Birthday-Finn,

Don't get any bigger.  Don't get any older.  I may use this space to make fun of you every chance I get, but (as you'll learn), that's just my way of masking my own feelings.  And my own feelings right now are already nostalgic for yesterday, when you were still my (three-year-old) baby.

Here's the birthday boy with the enormous cement mixer that the Mi-mi (binky) fairy brought him last night for finally giving up his nighttime pacifier.

Four years old and still sleeping with a pacifier.  That's embarrassing, Future Finn.

Just kidding.  Please don't hit me.

Happy birthday, buddy.  I love you more than all of the popcorn and afternoon baseball games in the world.  You may not be my baby any more, but you'll always be my number one boy.


Love,
Daddy