One Whole Hand

Today is my boy’s fifth birthday.

When Will was a baby, and I was trapped beneath the crippling weight of postpartum depression, I dreamed of the day he would turn five and head off to kindergarten. In my altered mental state I believed that school would heal my broken mind and heart; I’d finally have my life – and the sanity I’d enjoyed before Will was born – back when he was out of the house for a few hours each day.

After many months, the cloud of depression that hung threateningly over my head lifted. And now, today, the moment I dreamed about so long ago has finally arrived and I’m overjoyed. Not because Will now spends four mornings a week at preschool and will soon head off to kindergarten. But because we survived, and then thrived, and because he’s become such a wonderful little person.

Will is sensitive. At times he has trouble controlling his emotions, and his feelings get hurt easily, but he can sense when someone else is hurting and needs a hug, a kind word, or a even just a smile. Will is driven. He can’t stand losing, but his competitive spirit will serve him well if he chooses to play sports beyond the under-5 level. (It drives him – and me, quite frankly – crazy that they don’t keep score in his soccer league.) Will is inquisitive. Though the topics that interest him are often arbitrary and unrelated (this week we’ve covered abdominal muscles, evolution, trolls, electricity, and “the force”), he throws himself wholeheartedly into learning as much about them as he possibly can. And Will is smart. He’s entirely uninterested in writing and art projects, but he loves and is very good at reading, math, and science. I fear he will surpass me academically in three or four years, at least when it comes to chemistry and physics.

Today Will is a whole hand old – it hardly seems possible. Happy birthday, my sweet boy.