A letter to my boys: Four

Darling boys, you are four years old. Four. FOUR. In some ways, it feels like the blink of an eye. In others, motherhood feels like all I've ever known.

You have grown - of course you have. It's inevitable. In many ways you have changed so much. But, yet, you remain the same. Your essence, your you-ness, is resolute and unwavering. You are as you always have been - since the moment of your birth - and as you always will be, too, I suspect.

Since having you two, there is no doubt in my mind that we are all born with our personalities imprinted firmly, deeply in our souls. Our job as your parents is to shape your values, your beliefs, and to teach you how to respond, react and moderate. But we have realised there is no shaping of your personalities in our job description. They are far stronger and deeper than our influence.

Roc, you have started to show some remarkable self-control. Of course, you're still a four-year-old, who freaks out at random stuff like dropping your water bottle in the car, but in other ways, you are mature beyond your years. You take deep breaths to calm down. You can snap yourself out of moods. You make decisions about how you will react to a situation. You sing gentle songs to calm Hamish down if he needs it (and me, too, if truth be told!).

You love your family deeply and intensely. You aren't afraid to tell us how much you love us, and you are an incredibly affectionate little boy. You need kisses and cuddles - they right your world. 

You're a bit of a kooky little thing. Things have to be 'just so'. Everything has to be buttoned all the way up, socks perfectly straight, trousers pulled up, laces evenly laced. You have uniforms, or 'outfits' as you call them, for everything, and your clothes have rules. Your blue waffle long sleeve shirt is only worn with your red vest. Your green stripy shirt with the red elbow patches is only for parties. Your skinny jeans are for 'good', and your 'work' shirts are for weekend breakfasts. Underpants and socks must match. Precision in all things. Even your dancing.

You are razor sharp, and super smart. Which isn't surprising; your daddy is the smartest person I have ever met. You do everything yourself, and I'm guilty of treating you as a child much older than four. You are just so independent. I can't remember the last time I had to help you get dressed, or put the toothpaste on your brush, or wash you in the bath. You set the table. Pack the dishwasher. Make your bed, even. You've even started doing up your own carseat seatbelt (which of course I check once you've had your go). 

I sometimes wonder how on earth I'm going to keep up with you, and I certainly wonder how we're going to keep you entertained and stimulated for another 18 months before you start Prep. 

You are capable beyond your years, and I think I forget that actually, you're still a toddler. Still a baby, really. My baby.

I love you darling one. Adore you, in fact. I'm so intensely proud of you. And I am in awe of you, too. I'm so lucky to be your mama. Thank you for making me a mum. It's the biggest privilege of my life.

And my darling Hamey-bear. I am SO proud of you. You have taken this year in your stride. You've been dragged from physio, to paediatrician, to neurologist, to speech pathologist. You charm all of them the second you meet them. I was reading the letter from your neurologist just tonight, and in it he said "Hamish is a delightful 3.5 year old boy". And you are. You are so delightful. And delighted. And enamoured of life.

But aside from all the hypotonia stuff (which, thankfully, will be just a minor consideration in your daily life), you are hilarious. And beautiful. You see the world for its beauty.

We sometimes play 'doctors'. Whenever you stick the pretend thermometer in my ear, you withdraw it, shake it, have a look and announce cheerfully, "You're healthy mama!" You're an optimist. You're not melodramatic. I love that about you.

You're our funny one. The joker. Our little comedian. You're always pulling crazy faces, hiding, pretend-falling, making up silly words to songs, making up crazy dances, putting things in odd places to await our reaction, and generally making us burst into laughter. 

You are so gentle, too, and full of love. You kiss me constantly and call me "pwetty mama, breutiful mama." Sometimes, you are just so overwhelmed with love and happiness that you squeak! We call them your love squeaks, and they are the cutest things in the world.

Despite being the less-talkative twin (make no mistake, you still talk a LOT, but Roc is a force to be reckoned with), you are quietly confident. You aren't shy in front of strangers, and you thrust your arm out to 'shake hands' when you meet new people. I love that you seem to take each new interaction as an opportunity to make a new friend. 

Everyone who meets you loves you. You are the sweetest little boy, with the softest little cheeks. Your eyes are gentle, kind and deep. They reflect love. And people are drawn to you. They always have been. You are one of this world's treasures.

I love you, darling boy. So so much my heart swells up and my chest gets tight, and my throat starts to hurt and my eyes well. It's physical, this parenting thing. I didn't know it would be this beautiful.

As always, my darling ones, all the love in the universe,
Your mama