When I asked my son what he wanted to be for Halloween this year, I expected the usual line-up of costumes—Chase from Paw Patrol, Spider-Man, maybe a dinosaur. But instead, he kept saying one word: “Cooper.”

At first, I smiled, thinking he was just dodging the question or hadn’t quite understood what I meant. But every time I asked, his answer was the same. He just wanted to be himself.

My sweet little boy, in a world brimming with superheroes, larger-than-life characters, and endless options for pretending to be someone or something else, simply wanted to be Cooper.

And isn’t that something? His declaration was so simple, but the truth in it hit me deep. In his little heart and mind, being Cooper was more than enough. While other kids were dreaming of donning capes, he was standing proud in his own name, his own skin. In a world where we’re constantly told to be more, do more, and reach for something else, here he was, already content.

I think about the world he’s growing up in, and I know this phase won’t last forever. Eventually, life will nudge him to dream bigger and perhaps aspire to be someone different, whether it’s a doctor, a firefighter, or something else entirely. That’s part of growing up, of course, and I hope the dreams he forms are ones that fill his heart with joy. But for now, in this moment, there’s something so beautiful about his contentment with just being himself.

As moms, we’re always watching our children grow—celebrating milestones, encouraging them to dream, all while knowing that the world will eventually mold them, change them, in ways both big and small. Sometimes I wonder how much of this pure, unfiltered self-love will remain when the world starts telling him who or what he should be. It’s hard to think about.

But right now, at this tender age, I get to hold onto this beautiful moment where he believes that being Cooper is the best thing in the world. And honestly, it is. His littleness and greatness are all wrapped up in the same tiny body, and I just want to soak it in. I want to hold onto his self-assuredness and his simplicity for as long as I can. Because one day, when life pushes him in different directions, I hope that the little boy who was perfectly content being himself will still remember how enough he was, just as he is.

For now, though, I’ll cherish the fact that my little Cooper is proud to be Cooper, no costume needed.