He's not one hand anymore

My boy, the boy, had a birthday today. I don't know about other moms, but I do not handle my children's birthdays well. His traditional blind birthday picture was very revealing to me:



My baby wasn't there anymore. The little guy with the sweet baby fat on his cheeks, stumbling over everything and wearing little Stride Rite tennis shoes was not there. A tall boy with a close cropped haircut, Avengers sheets, holding up two hands to show his new age greeted me this morning...and it broke my heart. When that little squirmy kid emerged six years ago, I took a long sigh of relief and thanked God for giving us a healthy little baby with the sweetest face and demeanor. We gave him a name that brought with it more questions than compliments. He had two big sisters who loved him so much they brought new meaning to the possibility of "loving someone to death". He has grown not only into a spunky boy, active and athletic, silly and smart. But he has grown up to be a kind little guy...and I am so grateful to know him and his tender heart.

Each passing year, a little more of my baby boy leaves and a bit more of a young man emerges. Six is still very young, but time flies and I know sixteen is just around the corner. No matter what age he is, whether he is sleeping in a crib or king sized bed, he'll always be that ball of pure grace that was sent to us 6 years ago today. And I am eternally beyond thankful to be his mother.
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