Wednesday, February 19, 2014


I’ve spent the better part of the last 24 hours being super domestic. I baked muffins, did laundry, made alfredo sauce from scratch, baked a cake, and blew up a package of balloons; all because today, my 1st born turns 8. Eight freaking years old. I know it’s cliché to say this, but how the hell did this happen?? I cannot believe how quickly these last 8 years has flown (not to mention, is it even possible that I’m old enough to have an 8 year old?!). I knew these years would fly by, but I still hoped that he would always stay little. That hope is pretty much out the window now.

My Bug is officially too old to be considered my baby, to even be considered a little kid! He is a big kid. As if the fact that he is the tallest kid in his class didn’t prove that before. As if girls calling him on the phone didn’t make me consider it. As if him riding off on his bike by himself to scour the neighborhood was something "little kids" do. No, I should have seen this coming. It shouldn’t have hit me like a truck this morning when he woke up to the alarm that he set and got himself dressed and completely ready to go 15 minutes early because he is responsible like that. This kid, my big 8 year old, is…well…he’s amazing. There isn’t a better big brother in the world. No child has ever been so purposely thoughtful. No one has ever held the power to make me so angry yet so happy at the same time. He has been stubborn since we forced him to come out at 41 weeks, he tests my patience daily, he makes question the intelligence of having three kids. But he makes me so proud. The mothers in our neighborhood sing his praises to me every chance they get. He is so sweet and patient with the younger kids, he is gentle and kind with the girls, he is polite to all of the parents. He knows his manners. He keeps his room clean. For the last week he has rinsed his dishes and put them in the sink without a single reminder (because he may or may not actually be my child). He wants to stay up late at night so he can read books. He sings and dances whether there is music on or not (because he is obviously my child). He is handsome and smart and sweet and thoughtful and well on his way to being a young man that I will be proud of. He made me a mother, and I hope he always lets me mother him at least a little bit. Happy 8th birthday Bug. I hope you have 100 more as wonderful as this one.

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