Today is Toby's 4th birthday. 4 years ago, when they put him in my arms, it was like a sharp ridge of light just broke through the grief and the fog of losing the twins, and of R2's birth and trials. I did not believe Toby was real until he was in my arms.
I have walked a fine line since that day, holding him as close as possible while trying to let him practice flying. As I write this, he is jumping from the hotel couch onto the bed, and then back.
I live in a perpetual state of terror that he is going to grow up all of the sudden and I will have missed something, a moment, or a day.
I was so aware yesterday that it was his last day of 3. We ate at Cici's and drove all day and I watched him with a lump in my throat.
Now he is 4, and 3 is over forever. It was such a good year. I know 4 will be, too, but even as I celebrate him growing and learning, I miss my 4 pound baby.