There is something about turning 4 that signals the end of babyhood and the certainty of childhood. As a mother, I find it a bit sobering. I suppose it is the "end" part that makes me sad, though there is so much to anticipate. It's a dotted line that marks where baby hugs and sweet little yawns, footed sleepers and faded blankets become toy cars and sleds, plastic dinosaurs and regular hair cuts... a boundary of sorts, and as I look back I see with bittersweet pride that Maddox has undeniably crossed it.
Thinking about all of this reminds me that I want to record each of the kids' birth stories. This is important to me, and I imagine that they will be interested in how they entered this world at some point, but I will save that for another day.
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