Happy Birthday, Baby Beluga!

How is it possible that you are six? That you are now on the downhill road towards ten? That as soon as I got used to you losing teeth and riding a bike, you went and joined the world of playdates and girlfriends?

You have grown faster than I could keep up with this year. For the record, it is not my fault that you look like a hobo; no sooner do you get new pants than you promptly stretch overnight and turn them into capris. Your ankles and wrists are continually on display, despite pants and shirts that fit fine the day before.

You have grown in maturity as well, often faster than either of us were prepared for. We both felt your growing pains as you tried to negotiate your way through the minefield that is the adult world, and I had to remind myself that the public nudity, fighting, and swearing were not as much being bad as they were the result of coming up against stuff that's bigger than you are and not knowing how to handle it.

Not that you haven't given us a run for our money. As suspected, we've had a number of conversations with your teachers. You've gotten to know the time-out step pretty well, and have had toys placed atop the fridge until you choose better behaviour on many an occasion.

And yet, the result of all of this boundary-pushing has been to enlarge your spirit, not to change it. You've added a new sensibility, a new way of engaging your world, true, but you are also still my baby. You still love a good snuggle, and you still prefer to shed your tears on my shoulder. You insist on our nightly routine that includes a personalized Raffi song, back-rubbing, wiggle-noses and about ten other ways of saying "I love you."

You try to out-do me in love, and every night when we tell each other "je t'aime beaucoup" and we each say "beaucoup, beaucoup, beaucoup..." until one of us gives up, you try to be the last one standing, often pulling out the ol' "beaucoup infinity" to triumph.

But you can't win on that one, baby my boy. The more you push me, the bigger my heart gets. It will always be just a bit bigger than you are, surrounding you and holding you even as you stretch it.

Happy birthday, Mr. Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails! May "6" be another growing year - I'm ready for it.

P.S. This one's a day late, I'm afraid. That's what happens when birthdays are on the Friday of a week with something up every night including a birthday party the night of.