We meet again. Doesn't seem like too long ago I sat down to write you last year's letter. Truly, I sat down to write you two years ago and it doesn't seem like that long ago either.
Time. When I was younger it seemed like it was dragging. Now that I have my own young one, time evades me like grains of sand slipping through my grasping fingers.
You see, August, I have a two year old. Truly, he's almost two and a half. He remains the light of my life, my treasure, my prize, but he's almost two and a half. I'm going to say this to you August and I would prefer it if you kept this little secret: my son is no longer a baby. He needs more out of life than mama and daddy.
So, your arrival means he'll be getting more than us. He'll be getting daily buddies, circle time, ABC time (did you know he knows some letters? I didn't) and lots of songs. He'll be going back to day care which is just what he needs. While I still feel little pangs to be so near the end of our beautiful summer, I realize that everything in life has it's season. We are blessed enough to have a season of together time every year. Turn, turn, turn.
Here's another thing, August. This year you bring with you my 30th birthday. 30. Thirty. Three decades. While I realize that this number in no way indicates that I'm old, it does give me the perfect opportunity to reflect on how truly blessed I am, having made it to thirty with a healthy, beautiful child, a great, hardworking husband, a roof over my head, a job I love and family who loves me. I am determined to make 30 the year I give more back. Serve more, as I have been served. To show my gratitude, rather than just state it.
Here's to you, August. Thank you for arriving so promptly every year for the past thirty years (actually, exactly thirty years ago I think my mom was pretty miserable at this point, but that's another story). If I could, I would give you a hug.
Love
gin
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