Seven years ago we welcomed a little man into our lives and into our hearts. From the moment I laid my eyes on him I was full of all kinds of love.
It didn't hurt that he was a particularly good looking little guy.
Michaela was fascinated by him..."It's a baby!" she said.
She was a sweet helper, but who could resist such a face?
I have a feeling that won't be the last time I hear that sentiment.
Do you know what I like about this picture? You can see his dinner plate; he does not eat vegetables anymore. There lies his broccoli and carrots as evidence of this fact, in his seventh year, entering his eighth. (Shut up. Seriously. You did not just say that he is going to be eight, did you?) (Why, yes I did.) (Thank you for the heart attack. I'll be fine, don't worry about me.) Also, note the black object that is sticking up next to him. It is my potato masher. He was using it as a gun. He is very much a boy. Just an expert documenter here, that's all.
The truth is I can't believe he is seven. Seven seems much different than six, more than just a year. Seven seems very big. But I cannot escape the fact that he will continue to get older. It is bittersweet.
He still likes to snuggle, though.
I am in the process of getting ready, along with Mike, for his birthday party tomorrow. We are picking up his class and bringing them back to our house for a dinosaur party. I have a fantastic cake planned...and icing that needs to be colored...and fondant that needs to be rolled and cut. Holy moly. I've got a lot to do. That's not even mentioning the mess to clean up.
It will be fun. Right? Mike said so.