You have a new imaginary friend. Yesterday, we were cuddling on the couch, just hanging out, when your fingers tickle-walked up my arm and you said, "Porgee says hi." So, naturally, I asked you who Porgee is. Apparently, Porgee is a huge spider, but he is "very sweet and fuzzy and tired of people always trying to smash him." He likes hugs and ceiling fans and wants to drive a motorcycle one day. And that one day will "probably be tomorrow."
Porgee is less scary than some of your imaginary friends.
Your birthday is in a few days; 5 years. How is it 5 years? Weren't you born last week? Haven't you always been here? I am ashamed of this, but when you were born, I thought I had you all figured out. I mean, we already had Super 1st and his uniqueness knows no bounds. So, I figured that you would be like him. Or maybe the exact opposite. But the idea that you would bloom and grow into your own boundless uniqueness? Well, I am afraid that my imagination is not like yours, my Love. That; I simply couldn't conceive of.
Should have known better.
Those eyes hold mega mysteries.
Just your above-average flying ace.
Here, little elephant.
Let me love you.
You are the definition of love. You are totally benign and clearly wish all you meet goodness and cheer and candy of some type. Especially those of the animal persuasion. Them; you love with a fierce and deep love that has zero limits, not even those of reality. This year, for your birthday, you eschewed all gifts in favor of a cat tree for the Super Cats and cat food for the local Human Society. That's not saying you don't want the entire catalog of Star Wars toys, vintage and modern, but those can show up whenever, through the year.
But it's really all about your eyes.
We have similar eyes, Super Preschooler. You, me, Grandpa, and Invisible Grandpa. (I am assuming that about Invisible Grandpa, having never seen him for reals.) And our eyes are pretty, I have to admit it. Blue/gray with facets all over the place. Facets that twinkle and catch the light like diamonds. But your facets, my Sweet. Yours I could look at for hours and hours and still not be bored. Yours look like letters; magical elvish letters that hold the secrets to the universe. And I don't think there is doubt in anyone's mind that you do indeed hold the secrets to the universe. (Well, you and Porgee.) Keep them, my beautiful, creative, utterly amazing son. God gave them to you to guard and decorate with your boundless imagination. If anyone is up to decorating the universe, it's you.
I love you,
Super Baby looks at you like we all look at you.
Like we never want to look away.