He's five.

Dear Eli,

I can't believe you're five.  I know I'll say that every year on your birthday - that I can't believe you are the age that you are.  And I know I'll always say that it's going too fast.  And I can't believe how big you are.  And I know that when you're 18 or 25 or 33 I'll look back at this picture and say "He was so little then!  I thought he was such a little man, but he was really still my baby."  And you are.  You are my baby.  You're also a whole lot of other things.  Brave.  An extrovert.  Enthusiastic.  A good friend.  The best son.  Independent.  Responsible.  Smart.  Hard working.  Sweet.  Loving.  Snuggle bug.   Life of the party.  I appreciate every single thing about your personality.

Oh, you have so many good qualities, but you're definitely not perfect.  I'm already a little concerned for your future wife.  You are very particular about certain things.  About a week after Ruthie came home, you looked at me one day and quietly asked "Are you going to do your hair again someday?"  I almost passed out because 1. You even noticed and 2. It was apparently important enough for you that you would need to express it.  (Dear Future Wife, I'm sorry.  I hope he's not hard on you.  I'm working on him.)

You love your family, and we love you.  I've loved watching the relationship between you and Ruthie grow over the past several months.  You have become the brother I always thought you'd be.  Not much can make me melt the way I do when I see you with Ru.  You two are the sweetest.

And I am one lucky momma.  I love you buggie/Big E./Lil Sip/Shi Shi/Sheesh!