Dear Edward,
After a year's worth of anticipation and tears, you finally turn four years old today. I think we're both relieved and excited about this, though perhaps for different reasons. I know I struggled through your third year, but to this day I don't know why you hated being three so much. But we made it, and I have a few things to tell you about yourself, because I think we both forget sometimes.
Edward, you are such a capable young man. I know you hate doing anything by or for yourself: it scares you silly to do something without me there coaching you (or, better yet, doing it for you). I know you don't like it when I push you to be independent. I want you to know that I only push you because I know that you are more capable than you could imagine. You are so afraid of making a mistake or doing something wrong, but you shouldn't be. You do everything so carefully and meticulously. You amaze me.
Edward, you are such a compassionate, tender-hearted young man. You cry more on your brother's behalf than you do on your own, and are always careful to see to his needs with a blanket and sippy cup full of milk when he is hurt. Last week, Robert had difficulty eating his dinner, so I left him in his chair for a while after everyone else had left the dinner table. You were devastated, and sat weeping quietly to yourself in your bed, so worried that I would leave him there all night alone or something. While Robert happily talked to himself and threw his food around the room having the greatest fun of his life, I held you and consoled you and reassured you that we wouldn't abandon your brother.
Edward, you are such a reliable young man. I try not to put too much pressure on those tender shoulders of yours, but even so I know I can count on you whenever I give you (or your brother!) a task. You know your role in our family, and perform it well -- you keep an eye on the milk levels of all sippy cups, and inform me when a refill is needed; you put your dishes in the sink after every meal (and, on the rare occasions that you have them, after every snack); you encourage Robert when he falls off task with his dinner, potty-using efforts, or cleaning duties (not that he has many) by suggesting interesting games to play afterward: "Help me pick up these blocks so we can run around in circles, Robert!"
Edward, you are such a smart young man. Through your whole young life, I have been able to look you in the eye and explain things to you, and you would understand. I didn't appreciate this enough until dear, sweet, doesn't-listen-to-anybody-but-his-brother Robskers came along and I realized what an amazing gift it is of yours. You had your letters and numbers (through ten on your own; through twenty if I was counting with you) mastered by the time you were two, and at four you are writing your own name legibly. You remember everything, which has been a blessing and a curse. (On the plus side, you don't freak out and cry on airplanes, because you remember the routine. And the negative side, you were so heartbroken when we didn't go to Utah for Christmas, or when Aunt Kati failed to appear for your birthday this year.) You know how the world works, and don't appreciate it when things don't go according to plan. Also, I need to be scrupulously careful about what promises or bribes I make to you, because you will remember, and you will hold me to my word.
[And now the requisite old pictures. *Not* from when Edward was 4:]
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