The Prince at 4

Dear Eamon,

When you were a little baby, we used to call you "The Prince."  This title was in reference not only to the way I treated you, but to the way you seemed to expect to be treated.  We would swaddle you up and place you in our bed, head on a pillow.  You would look so regal and relaxed.  You were just the apple of my eye.  There is absolutely no comparison, as far as  photos taken, between you and any of your siblings.  I took more pictures of you than I could ever find uses for and I loved taking each and every one.  From your huge green eyes and bald head to your curly locks at 18 months, I couldn't resist just one more shot of my  prince.  

It is true that I don't call you "The Prince" much anymore.  You have outgrown that title and are more  commonly referred to as "Junior" or "Son".  Sometimes you are "Honey" or "Sweetheart."  Mostly, you are just "Eam."  The past year or so has been a bit tough.   We were faced with myriad fits, tantrums, yelling, hitting, and even biting.  Your self control has not caught up with your body size and that has made for a rough time.  I try to remember that you are often tired or keyed up, being a boy or having growing pains.  I try to remember that the girls and Trumie get the spot light and that you are the true middle child in this family dynamic.  I try to remember that you are sensitive and that you love your Mama so much.  I try to remember to be understanding.  

Just yesterday, Madeline commented that you have changed so much since turning four.  The fact is, I think she's right.  I don't  know if it's the fact that you are in school more, getting more sleep, getting more attention, or just growing up that is causing such an improvement in your behavior.  Sometimes I think that you take being 4 seriously.  That you think that you should behave better.  I think you think that you are now a big boy.  

I do know however, that you are so cute and so sweet and so in love with me.  You continue to be the apple of my eye and I will continue to try and understand when your behavior is less than stellar.  Welcome to the big leagues, Mr. Four Year Old Boy.

Love,

Mama