Now you're six. And your six times six mother is baffled when she reaches to hold the boy who used to fit so nicely on her lap. Chubby limbs that once rounded comfortably into my curves now sprawl widely - legs spilling over the edges and sharp elbows poking into my sides. The body is suddenly foreign, yes, but when my eyes reach your face, you're still my Baby D. And I suspect that you always will be. Sparkling eyes, lightly freckled nose, a ready smile.
When, at three, you were stumbling through books with a fervor, Grandma Cyndee bought you one titled “Born to Read.” I read it to you often, and you soon read it to me. But this year I've discovered that it needs a sequel - “Born for School”. Because I think you were. Kindergarten is the wonderland of all your daydreams.
After the long weekend in January, I whispered to you on Tuesday morning that I wished you could stay home just one more day. You diplomatically declared, “I like being with you mom, but I really like to go to school.” Of course, I'm glad that is the case. And I try not to begrudge being ousted as your first choice.
Still, it's shocking to discover how quickly the life of your second child can float away. With Aidan I swear that time moved much more slowly.
I need to push the pause button and hold on to you for an extra five minutes every day. But, you have homework to do, sports to play, lego structures to design, pictures to draw, a room to organize.
You continually astound me.
With your quirky sense of humor.
Your eager mind.
Your stubborn streak (which really shouldn't surprise because I've got my full 6 times 6 version of that).
Your innate friendliness (which does surprise because Mom and Dad have to work to reach outward while you naturally want to greet and love everyone you encounter).
Your budding testimony.
Months ago, I was talking to you and Aidan about the Holy Ghost. I can't remember if it was a prepared lesson or impromptu conversation, but I do remember your subsequent consternation. And how you confessed, in confusion, that you had never felt the spirit. I explained the warmth, the love, the joy, and you thoughtfully replied, “I think I did feel it one time at a baptism.”
Two weeks ago you taught Family Home Evening. Lehi was given the Liahona as a guide in the wilderness. It worked when his family was righteous and did not work when their minds were muddled with sin. I remember the sparkle in your eyes as you taught. You closed with your testimony, then took your seat at my side while Dad finished conducting for the night. After the last amen, you whispered to me in excitement, “I felt the Holy Ghost tonight when I was teaching. I know I really felt it.”
The tender spirit that already filled me that night multiplied (six times six, at least, I'm sure). All the complex book learning in the world can't replace the wonder of a simple knowledge of the gospel. You are learning that, as well.
With your ever-growing mind & heart, you continually teach Me. I've always said that you were sent to calm me. Motherhood did not come easily to this stubborn, high-strung girl. Six years ago today, I held you for the first time and – it sounds corny to say, but it's absolutely true – years of built up tension magically melted away. For two days, only you and I existed. Perfect therapy. And (though very far from perfect) I've been a better person ever since. You have definitely blessed my world.
Happy Birthday, my Davyn!
Friday, February 18, 2011 at 08:00PM 
It was huge and heavy. 
Mostly I had fun trying out the dahlia-style flowers. Because it felt like play. The purple ones were glittery, but it translated into dusty for the picture. I loved it in person. 
