FOUR

This morning, I awoke to Elijah shout/whispering in the other room, “Daaad! I have a diaper full of pee pee and some of the pee pee came out over the top and now it’s all wet in here!”

After shushing him and threatening his life if he woke Diana or Luca up, I hugged him and said, “Happy Birthday, Eli. I love you very much.”

“Can I watch TV?”

As I hit the “on” button, I recalled Eli’s birthday party from last Sunday. We had all of ours and Eli’s friends over for Star Wars cake and what passes for pizza in Denver.

An unrelated side note, one of our appetizers was little cocktail weenies. Luca observed a plate full and clearly said, “Penis.”

Where was I? Oh, Eli. This was the first birthday where he understood what was going on. People were presenting him with gifts he had asked for. Not onsies or puffy books or socks. He got a helicopter, a Darth Vader costume and lightsaber, an Iron Man thing that shoots stuff to poke your eye out.

As he viciously dug into some dinosaur related thing, I found myself getting choked up. I actually had force myself to keep from bursting into tears.

What the hell is wrong with me, I thought. Was I jealous of his awesome presents? Possibly. They were pretty awesome. But that couldn’t be it. I could just take them from him if I wanted to play with him.

I think it was the same thing that always chokes me up. I love that kid. It’s been four years of the greatest moment of my life, over and over again. Those of you with kids you like know what I’m stumbling around trying to say.

So I’ll just say it to Eli.

Happy birthday, son. You have brought me more happiness in four short years than I ever thought possible. I love you. I love your mop of blond hair. I love your big, hilarious brain. I love your tip toed running. I love your obsession with all things with screens. I love your made up stories. I love your constant injuries. I love your constant wet pants. I love your laugh. I love your ice cold feet.

You’ll always be my best pal.