4-year-old, I’ve Been Waiting for You

When the doorbell rang at 4:30 p.m. on that cool, autumn Wednesday in mid-October, my husband and I looked at each other confused. Anyone who could possibly be coming over– my parents, his parents, our siblings, nannies, cleaning ladies, etc.– had the code to our house and would have come in without the doorbell. It couldn’t be the UPS man because we would have heard the thud of a package followed by that doorbell. We hadn’t ordered any groceries. And we certainly hadn’t invited anyone over to hang out in the middle of the week. 

The doorbell rang again. My husband walked to the door and opened it. The kids and I couldn’t see who it was from the family room, but we heard my husband say, “Hey, buddy!” Our confusion deepened: it sounded like he was talking to a little kid! Then, a little voice followed, “Um, can Ahmed play?” 

My four-year-old and I looked at each other in bewilderment. (OK, bewilderment on my part; excitement on his). “It’s the new neighbors!” he exclaimed before bolting out of the family room into the foyer.  Oh yes, the new neighbors, I recall. A few days ago a new family moved in next door, and, to Ahmed’s delight, they have two sons: 5 and 8. Ahmed had spent one afternoon playing soccer with them and hit it off. Now they were asking to play again, and Ahmed was saved from an afternoon of moping around the house wishing his sisters were boys. 

In a flash, his jacket and shoes are on. And he’s gone. My little baby who came into the world just four short years ago is off to play with friends he made himself, and I don’t see him the rest of the afternoon. 

Cue the tears and nostalgia, pull up his collection of baby pictures on my phone, run upstairs to cuddle his baby blanket. 

NOT.

More like cue the music and start my dance party because I am thrilled! Thrilled for myself and for him.  You see, this is the day I’ve been waiting for. As any fellow parent of multiple toddlers will tell you, the first four years are as maddening as they are cute. During the bleary-eyed blur of the newborn months, you desperately ask your friends with older kids, “When will I no longer feel utterly exhausted?” When the 1s arrive, you consult Google to see when you’ll stop being covered in food and snot and cleaning up accidents and food off the floor. During the 2s, you read all the parenting books and ponder if logic and reasoning will ever prevail over drama and meltdowns. And by the time the 3s roll around, you wonder if you just need to settle for a life of unpredictability and attitude. No one gives you a straight answer on when it gets better. 

Well friends, I’m here to provide that straight answer: it’s at four years old. Your light at the end of the tunnel, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the moment you’ve waited for. It’s at four. Your Big Kid has arrived. 

For the most part, Ahmed doesn’t need me to feed him, change him, sleep with him, or take him to the bathroom. There are no diapers, sippy cups, spills, sleep regressions, or “hold me” demands. He pours his own cereal, reads his own books, rides his two-wheeler around the cul-de-sac, and brushes his teeth by himself. Logic and reasoning prevail in 93 percent of situations. Tantrums are down 98 percent. He can do small but meaningful tasks to help out with his little sisters. He’s busy with school, with sports, and with cousins on the weekends. And now making friends and playing is added to the growing list of things he does independently! In other words, the soul-sucking portion of the first four years has dissipated.   

And while the headache of the first four years is gone, all the joy and cuteness remains and is actually magnified. I get to watch Ahmed grow academically, spiritually, and physically. I marvel at the budding personality that is developing. I have the privilege of experiencing his wonder at new worldly phenomena that he is understanding and appreciating for the first time. He is old enough to be giddy with excitement over the Amazon wishlist he has been allowed to create for his birthday but sensible enough to understand that he will not get everything on that list. 

And yet he still says he needs to read the “constructions” to build his new Lego set and thinks the recent temporary body art he got is a “Tatooine” (blame his dad’s Star Wars obsession for that one). Sometimes, in the middle of a football game with his uncle, he’ll pounce on me for cuddles like he’s two. He’ll run to give me hugs and kisses in front of his friends when I pick him up from school or chaperone a field trip (even though I suspect this one is on its way out the door very soon). And his face still maintains glimpses of those cherubic cheeks I fell in love with four years ago. 

So, fellow parents in the throes of toddlerhood, it gets better. Way better. Soon the physically exhausting and mentally draining first four years will be a blurry memory as your Big Kid leads you into a far more delightful stage of parenthood.  

Now, just T-4 years until I get there with my youngest…