Four years ago this morning, I was in a hospital bed almost 3,000 miles from here, having just given birth to my son. Exhausted and happy, I had slept about an hour and was dying for a cup of coffee for the first time in months. This new little creature was small enough to be cradled in one hand and forearm, yet he turned our world upside down and completely held us in his spell. We didn't decide until later in the day what this little boy's name was going to be, so for the moment he was "Boy Naun" to the nurses and hospital staff.

A few days later, we brought Harry home, driving gingerly and constantly turning around to see if he was still alive in the carseat. On impulse, we stopped in at my work to show him off. "Look what we did!" I said.

At home, we carried him into the house, swaddled him and laid him gently in his crib for the first time. "He's so freaking cute," we whispered. I stared at the tiny sleeping figure, peaceful for the moment, and wondered what kind of person he would become.

Four years later, I am beginning to see the shape of the man he will be, and I like what I see. Harry is bright, willful, energetic, kind, and cheerful. He possesses a capacity for empathy that I never thought a four-year-old could have. He can be extremely bossy and yet incredibly kind to his little sister. He tackles physical obstacles fearlessly, and when hurt he takes his lumps and moves on. He questions authority and has an insatiable desire to understand the how and why of everything. In short, he makes his Mommy proud.

Happy Birthday, my little man.