So we are Mormon and that means the Eighth birthday is a big one because that is the age at which a kid can decide to be baptized. Also happens to be when our Little man started cub scouts and got his first pocket knife (thanks Grandpa Todd!) so life is pretty rosy around these parts.
Garyn is a studly little dude…even the photo-bombing, escaped puppy thinks so. His sisters think he’s pretty great and I’m glad he loves them as much as he does.
Actually lots of people think he is great.
But I’m pretty sure nobody loves him as much as we do. This was supposed to be one of those life moments where I’m mostly really proud but a little sad that my baby is growing up. Nope. Not even a little bit sad. I’ve worked very hard to savor each moment…even the crappy ones. There’s been lots of those, by the way. But I can look back on the past eight years and not mourn times I should have, could have and didn’t. Most every bed time story and song he’s wanted me to read and sing I’ve dragged my exhausted self off the couch and delivered (sometimes very off key) so that I could celebrate his milestones without wishing he was small again. I will not begrudge them their growing up. Sigh. [Soap box disengage]. It’s funny though that this is one of those epic life events that you remember forever and he is a highly intelligent and intellectually mature boy so I was kind of expecting some deep and profound comments on this deep and profound occasion. Nope. Not even a little bit deep. He was thrilled with the presents he got and the new batch of people to play “Rock em Sock em” with him. The fact that he is still solidly an eight year old little dude, is very comforting and strangely makes this whole growing up thing easier. I’m not sure if that makes any sense but bottom line: I’m grateful for this crazy kid who happily is my guinea pig for this whole mom adventure that I’m on. He makes my heart happy.