Ruairi at Five

Happy birthday, darling Ruairi.

Tucked up next to me in the big bed as I type as quietly as possible beside you, you're sleeping fitfully - fighting the vile flu that laid your Mommy and I low for the last few days. Poor mite.

Years from now, maybe you'll come across these words and recall how completely tickled you were at the whole idea of being five. It's been a major milestone for you, I guess. Always one of the youngest in your class, I suppose you've tended to measure yourself against some of your best friends - all of whom have been five "for ages". It's entirely natural. You were so adorable, marching off to school all bundled up in your snowsuit this morning, saying: "I can't wait to tell Sean I'm five!"

Telling Mommy and I tonight in the car on the way out to East Side Mario's (your choice - just so you could get to spin the birthday wheel) that you're "not a toddler any more, now I'm a kid!" You're so funny, my Ruairi. So full of chat and ideas and honest, generous thoughts. Don't be in such a hurry to grow up, lovely boy. Of course, we want you to grow big and strong - but we sometimes wish you could stay just as you are too.

It's late, Daddy's tired and still feeling sickly, otherwise I'd write more. But no amount of words could ever really say it all. We love you so much, little Ruairi. We always will. Happy birthday, Opus, and good night.