Yesterday, at 12:08pm, my son turned eight.
For the past 7 years, this bright light has been an integral part of my life. He’s bought my husband and I closer together and instilled in me the idea that I could take care of another being even better than I could take care of myself.
7 years down, 11 to go.
This summer has been bitter-sweet for us as a family. I’ve been very aware that the amount of summers I have with my children are dwindling, summers where we plan time, vacations and experiences that the 4 of us can do together. Summers where we don’t have to think about college, boyfriends, girlfriends, or kids running off to so-and-so’s house for that last party of the season. It’s also the last summer where my sister will be underage and living at home, as she leaves for her college journey this August. Within all of that, I can’t help but see my now 8 year old boy as the nucleus to it all.
He’s the one that made me a mother, my Husband a father, my parents and mother-in-law into grandparents, and my sister into an Aunt for the first time. When he grows, we grow. When he falters, we all feel it. So, on his day, each year, we all celebrate. I’m pretty sure that his baby sister will learn to appreciate her brother’s birthday just as much as we do, realizing that he was the kid that we used to work out all of our parenting kinks. Well, I can only hope.
But on this day, I can’t help but look at this face:
Then remember this face from only a few years ago:
And take note that in a blink of an eye, I’ll be writing about the past 17 years, instead of the past 7. Time flies.
So Happy Birthday, my little boy. My beautiful soul with the kindest heart, and boisterous laugh. Mom and Dad wish you a year of blessings upon blessings. Love you.