As your mother, I watch you watch the world.
I want you to see all the good and exciting things you long for every day. I want to push your spyglass away from any darkness, sadness, or pain.
Your curious nature, however, will always conquer my cautious one. You will peek when I am unaware, catching sight of things that may confuse and sometimes frighten you.
It’s not that I want you to see the world as easy and perfect. I remind you of that every day when I correct your behavior, take away one of your privileges or, especially, demonstrate my own faults.
As the youngest sibling, you often look up to so many others without the benefit of being looked up to yourself. You, like so many younger siblings, will wonder why your mother never made time to put together a baby book. You might question why others are more important, but they are no more important than you.
I am watching you, and I am proud of what I see.
You’re gentle and empathetic.
You’re sensitive and caring.
You get frustrated when I do not hear you, and you make sure your perspective is known.
You are strong, and I look up to you.
As a baby, you were so tiny and fragile…so ill…so often. You have grown into a boy who is unafraid to do most things.
You are an incredible dancer.
You’re often the first to clear your plate and to say thank you.
You take my hand when you sense I need a human touch.
I look up to you.
You endure two older siblings who rarely show mercy, though they love you through and through.
You always fall asleep within the first three breaths after closing your eyes.
While your small body is still with slumber, I will also rest my own. Yet even in my sleep, I promise to keep watching over you.