Little Boy-Drawing from the second you could hold a pen
Who told you it was ok to turn eight? Weren’t you just snuggled up into my neck just yesterday? Wasn’t I just holding you, gazing into your big blue eyes trying to figure out how to turn our world back right-side-up? I’m not sure how it happened, but you quickly went from my snuggly angel-baby to my big, sometimes loud, often fast boy.
You still challenge me. You still heal me. You still make me want to pull each individual hair on my head out because it seems less painful than locking horns with you. You will forever be my middle-kid for all that entails.
I still love you to pieces, maybe even more now. I love that you still want hugs. I love your sense of justice. I love your quiet confidence and that mop of blond hair. I know you’re getting bigger and soon you may be too big to want my hugs, but I hate to tell you, no matter how big you get, no matter how cool you are, you’ll always be my baby.
