You are six. I am shocked.

To my leggy, tanned, bedheaded, giggling, dancing boy with the quickly developing sarcastic sense of humor, in the Star Wars t-shirt, hunched over a pile of at least a thousand Legos:

I distinctly remember the day I turned six. What felt like years but was probably not nearly that long before I blew out those candles on my own birthday cake, I saw a "Sesame Street" clip of a little girl leaping from her bed, singing about being six. I remember the dreamy haze that filled my own little girl-thoughts back then, "One day, I am going to be six, too!"

When the day finally arrived, I leaped from my own twin bed covered in quilts and stuffed animals and sang to the whole house, "I'm six! I'm six! I'm six years old today!" just like the pink pajama-ed girl in the video.

Last spring, when the reality that your days as a five-year old were winding down, that song filled up my mind again. I felt the same bliss, this time framed by a few tears from a mama who is both ecstatic and wistful to see her baby become a boy.

When I see you take off down the sidewalk in a sprint, dangle from the monkey bars, jump from your own bed happily in the morning to get ready for another day of kindergarten, it calls up the vivid feeling of being free in my own six-year old body. It makes me remember how wide-open and thrilling it all seemed -- the world, the playground, the kid-sized classroom tables and chairs, the scary-tall and wobbly slide, the deep end of the pool, the little space under my bed. It makes me remember my own dreams of being a teacher, a mother, a writer, a fancy lady, a movie star, a rock star, an actress on a soap opera, Juice Newton, Judy Blume, an artist.

By becoming more and more of who you are, Lil E, keeping me connected to the person I have been for my own much-longer life. I am so grateful for that gift.

It sounds like too much, like a line Barbara Hershey would have spouted off just before Bette Midler said something snarky that makes us all laugh around our tears, but it really is true.

Even more than that, I feel like the luckiest mother in the world in those moments when you casually read a big word or put your hand out to stop me from helping you pack up your Millennium Falcon backpack or squeal with excitement to show me how you fashioned a skeleton out of recycled plastic tubs and cardboard tubes or spill the details of who got what behavior grade in class that day or unleash a stream of questions about exactly what happens to the organs in your body when you die and how your spirit makes its way up to heaven.

The wheels are always turning with you. It's sometimes exhausting to try to keep up. But most of the time, it is pretty fun and funny to be along for the ride. Your own dreams are taking shape -- to be black belt, to read chapter books on your own, to ride your bike all the way to Grandma's house on your own, to grow up and be a man and live in a house next door to me, to save up lots of money.

You go and go and go, so much so that you have a hard time settling down to sleep. Most nights, I whisper to you, "Shhhh. Quiet your mind and make your body still" just so you are reminded that rest is a good thing. When you are finally asleep, I still sneak in to check that you are still breathing, that you've relinquished the potty talk and hilarious poop jokes and questions about what's happening tomorrow and given into the calm.

In the dark, I can see the baby and the man in your face. Sprawled out just like you always did in your crib with the same pouty, pink lips parted and breathing heavily into the rest of the room, I can also see the hint of more angular features outlining what you will look like years from now.

You are serious and focused and my heart pounds to see you hold your attention on perfecting your jump-front-kick in Tae Kwon Do and placing piece by piece on a 454-brick Lego ship. But you temper all that with kind words, booty shaking in your car seat to requests of "Boom Boom Pow" and "Party in the U.S.A." and long, involved explanations of rules for games I am pretty sure you make up to be so complex there's no possibility of anyone else winning.

You love babies, dogs, and the fact you know what a European carry-all is and why that's hilarious. You eat broccoli now, even like it. Reading before bed is one of the most important parts of your day and you pour over Tae Kwon Do and nature magazines. You love survival television shows and (as you still call it), "America's Home Funniest Videos" is still your favorite thing to watch.

You think a lot, and sometimes it is a challenge to parent you with all the negotiations you are set on making. As you have since the day you came into this world, who you inherently are calls on me to be the best of who I am. Oh, how I am trying.

You are spiritual, sensitive, you make me stop cleaning to have a quick dance party. You now wipe my lipstick from your lips each morning before you wave goodbye and follow behind your teacher into school. You give lots of thumbs up and sometimes flash a peace sign. You think big thoughts, ask bigger questions, you are so much your own person.

Every year at this time, I think it  -- you are one honey of a boy. But now, you are six. You are six years old today!

This one's for you, kid.

I love you with my whole heart.

xo