o.t.t.o.

Four.

Four is good.

At four you sleep nearly twelve hours every night.

You don’t poop in your pants and you can last an entire day with no nap and remain basically happy.

At four you’re affectionate and you’re smart

and you think Mommy is really funny.

You can eat meals without assistance and you save your funniest grins for my eyes only.

When you’re four you still ask me to sing you lullabies at bedtime and you think my voice sounds pretty.

When you’re four you find comfort in my arms and you think a matchbox car is a treasure.

And when you’re four

and you take a very long walk to the pond at the farm

and I ask you,

“Son, what are some of your favorite things to do?”

you answer:

“Picking flowers for you and holding your hand.”