Seven days ago you turned fifty one months old, but today marks five years we've been together, you and me.

Lately I have so many things to write, and then once I sit down, there's nothing. Not a word left in my head. I'm sorry for that, that these letters lately are sparse. I don't know what that means, but there it is.

Yesterday we ate dinner out and toward the end it was just you and me at the table, side by side. You snuggled up to me, so rare are the moments we get together, without your sister in between. Over the last few months I have regretted weaning you. Some days I wish I had pushed through the pain and discomfort I experienced toward the end of that relationship so that we could experience that same closeness today. But yesterday as we sat so close, I realized that our relationship has changed. It had to, and not because I weaned you. You're four years old and you don't need the mama who nursed you as an infant. You need the mama I am now, the one who parents a four year old. Maybe this is quite obvious, but it was rather profound last night.

I think it's due to my coming to terms with your sister's growth. She is also no longer an infant. Or baby, even. She needs me differently now than before, and that is hard to admit. Her babyhood went so, so fast, and I'm just not ready. And then there's you, four years old, and counting. I can't stop time.

Some days I watch the two of you, and it seems that it can never be different. It won't change. But not in that sad, depressed mother way, but in that nostalgic, freeze time sort of way. I can't imagine it any different. I suppose you could say it feels right, right now. And I'm not ready to give that up.

Happy Fifty First Monthday.