I can’t believe that four years ago today I was lying in a hospital bed, exhausted from the pain of back labor and a spinal headache. I had never felt worse after giving birth, but I think I had never seen a more beautiful baby. Your hair was like white gold and your head had that perfect C-section shape, though you had not had such a quick exit. I look at you and I marvel at your sunny disposition and your language skills. I laugh that in this picture you can see that one of your front teeth is discolored. We just discovered that in the midst of one of your many accidents (you seem to fall down every five minutes), you damaged one of your baby teeth.
You’re having lemon cake because your older brothers have introduced you to the joys of eating lemons like they’re any other fruit. I’m sorry that you don’t have a Martha Stewart mom. It’s a store-bought cake with no personalized message and silly crayon candles, but you don’t care. I adore you at four, Ben. You got candy and a Star Wars gun and a baseball bat and movie tickets, but you’re the real gift.