At night I pray, please grow.
I plead him to be happy-er. To not fall through the cracks of two older brothers and one baby sister.
I'm going to love him until love comes out.
He asks me, "What's your favorite color?"
The color of your eyes.
"Am I still your baby?"
You'll always be my baby.
[Alternately titled: Four (years old) is hard.]
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