My sweet Walter,
Today you turn five. Five feels big. Five feels like the official goodbye to babyhood, toddlerhood, and so many little moments I’ve held onto with both hands. You came into this world with a sweet simplicity, and you have been healing parts of me ever since. You’re our youngest of three — the grand finale — and somehow watching you turn five feels both impossibly fast and incredibly sacred.

I’ve known this day was coming, but there’s something about the youngest hitting this milestone that hits a little differently. You’re the last one who needed me for everything. And now here you are — tall, hilarious, opinionated, fiercely independent, and so wonderfully you.

You were born into a loud house with siblings who have wrapped you up into their chaos. You’ve grown up trying to keep up with the big kids — running a little faster, climbing a little higher, talking a little sooner and a whole lot more. You’ve taught us all how to laugh at the chaos and soften in the sweetness.

You are the perfect blend of tough and tender. You know how to hold your own, but you also know how to melt into us when you want to be little. I secretly love those moments — the ones where you curl up next to me and remind me that no matter how big you get, you’ll always be my baby. You did this last night as climbed up to me to snuggle after you had a scary dream, and I will hold those last moments of being four so dear.

What I want to remember about this age with you Wally:

• The way you are always the last to wake up, and always with wild hair. You still have me carry you down to breakfast on school days, and I will keep doing it since I never know when the last time will be.
• The sound of your footsteps running down the hallway because you have important things to tell us…or how you are sneaking down to get a late night milk.
• Your obsession with chicken nuggets.
• The way you throw yourself into things and teach yourself how to do something hard, like swinging on your own.
• The way your body moves and dances anytime you hear music. Your movie credit dancing is my favorite.
• The way you set your boundaries and stick to your strong will. You are firm when you don’t want to do something, and you cannot be swayed once you are convicted. This isn’t just about doing things like chores, but how you aren’t going to engage in activities that don’t bring you joy even if they seem fun to the rest of us.
• The way your brother and sister light up when you do something funny. You bring out the kid in all of us. You are always trying to make everyone smile around you, and you bring levity into every situation.
• You are wild beyond measure, but you still search for my hand to hold as we walk places which reminds me of your gentleness.

I want to remember how you look at the world with wide-open excitement, as if everything is an adventure waiting for you to join in.

You made our family feel complete. You taught me how to let go of perfection, how to savor the littlest moments, and how to find joy in the middle of messy days. You stretched my heart in ways I never expected.

As you step into five, into kindergarten this next year, into bigger shoes and braver steps, I hope you carry these things with you:

• Keep your imagination big.
• Keep your laugh loud.
• Keep your kindness close.
• Keep your dance moves coming.
• And keep believing that the world is good, because you make it better just by being in it.

One day, you’ll be too big for my lap and too cool for my hugs. But I hope you’ll still read these words and know how fiercely loved you’ve always been.
You are my last baby, but you’re also the one who taught me that endings can be beautiful — because they’re really just beginnings in disguise.

We love you more every single day Wally, and we can’t wait to see you grow this year.

Here’s to five — to the magic, the mischief, and the memories ahead.