This past Saturday, my sweet little boy became not so little. He went and turned 7 on me.
It’s not like I didn’t know it was coming. He waits all year for July and when it gets here, he immediately turns into a new kid. An older kid. A wiser kid. And like all mother’s do, I have to get with the program, and quick. But not before a shed a few tears because, well, my son just turned 7!
Yes, I can still remember the day he was born. The Husband and I talk about it every year around Sonny’s birthday: the walking to induce labor, the contractions I braved through on my exercise ball, then the final defeat as I shook him awake and told him I needed to get to the hospital. 8 hours later, he was in our arms. It was like a dream.
Now, he’s beyond big. He loves video games, science, reading, and his little sister. He’s not a fan of any type of meat, but will devour any type of chocolate. He has his favorite songs, and knows all the words to them. He’s a real boy.
So, on his actual birthday, when we had a moment alone, I recited these words: “My little boy, today two things are true; you are seven years old, and I still love you.” Then, this happened (I had to move quick to get the picture):
I promised myself that I wouldn’t cry anymore about the situation. I’d toughen up and come to face the facts. And I haven’t. The tears have stopped. But, the thing is, the Duchess will be turning 2 in a couple of weeks. On that birthday, all bets are off!