>Four

Today, my heart is breaking just a little bit.

It’s the last day my daughter will be four.

“This is your last breakfast as a four-year-old,” I told her this morning.

“This is the last time you’ll fingerpaint while you’re four,” I said a little later, as she showed me her latest artistic masterpiece.

“You’ll never have chicken nuggets and french fries as a four-year-old again,” I sniffed when she finished her lunch.

On and on and on. My daughter grins thoughtfully each time I remind her of her impending birthday. She can’t wait to turn five, and is eagerly anticipating tomorrow’s celebration.

Me? I can totally wait.

Each year on the day before Punky’s birthday, it’s like this. I mourn for the year that’s passed before it.

When Punky was about to turn three, I cried a little, wondering how three could possibly be more magical than two. The day before she turned four, I moped around the house, mourning the realization that three, her best year ever, would soon be over.

And now, my heart hurts as I wonder how on earth five could possibly top four. Four has been pure magic. In fact, it is not scientifically possible for five to be any better.

And I will never have a four-year-old daughter again.

At some point today, I’ll have one last snuggle with my four-year-old. I’ll kiss the top of her head over and over again in the usual way, and tell her how lucky I am to have her as a daughter, how wonderful I feel to get to help her grow up, and what an utterly magnificent four-year-old she has been.

Tonight, after she goes to bed, I’ll probably shed a few tears as I wrap her birthday presents. I’ll go to her bed as I always do on the night before her birthday and I’ll watch her as she sleeps. Gently, I’ll touch her smooth cheek and another small crack will etch its way across my heart.

Four.

This post originally appeared on Parents.com.