…no matter how hard I try to keep him from getting one year…one second older.

He’s growing up, and because he’ll be turning seven (and was convinced that as of midnight he would automatically graduate to second grade!), he’s counting every minute of his age. Remember when we used to do that? - We would round up when someone asked our age? Well, he’s been 6-and-a-half since two days after his last birthday! (Meanwhile, middle-aged women will hold on to every millisecond of whatever decade they are currently in…)

Anyway, so my baby’s growing up. This is so bitter-sweet with boys, especially.  I mean, you don’t want them to stay dependant - be labeled a “mama’s boy”…but, at the same time, you kind of enjoy the attention of a little boy who thinks you hung the moon. The middle school “angst” - and the mom-phobia that comes along with it - is right around the corner anyway!

But, for now, my little “eefer-beefer” is turning seven. He loves football - especially playing Wii Madden with his dad and commenting on how great Byron is (of course, then he modestly says, “must be where I get it from”), He loves playing with…any of his siblings that will play. He loves his friends. He loves to smile. He loves to enjoy life. And…he loves me…a lot. And knowing that the little boy, exuberant love that he lavishes upon me, unashamedly, will become much more discreet very, very soon, I’m going to enjoy every second of it…

After all, he won’t be my baby forever…just maybe the next 40 years or so!
Happy Birthday, little man. You’re the most awesomest seven year old named Ethan there’s ever been in the whole wide world!

I love you.

Peace.