There is a person in our house who is seven today. This guy, every time you tell him, "You're the best boy in the whole world," never fails to respond with, "You're the best mom."
He loves to hold doors for people, and hear them call him "a little gentleman."
He sings all day long, under his breath, constant gentle melodies.
He is super excited about his sister's service dog and has never expressed one second of jealousy around it.
He is Lego obsessed and a master at building with them.
He is physically, breathtakingly beautiful (just like your children).
He has strong little boy legs that for some reason remind me of Christopher Robin.
He has fine white blond hair on his forearms.
He some days walks around with a sign he made taped to his back that says, "I love my family and Legos."
He speaks with authority on all subjects, including (and especially) subjects he knows nothing about.
He hasn't a mean bone in his body. Not one. Not even a tiny little minuscule bone like those inside the ear.
Over a decade ago, I dreamt of a little blond haired boy, running joyously on the beach. I woke with such love in my heart and shared the dream with Todd.
"I loved him so much, as if he were my child! But it couldn't have been our baby. He had blond hair," I said as we lay in bed, leisurely talking. Pre-kids. I had dirty blond hair for a short while as a child but we're both brunettes.
Thank you little man, for that visit. And thank you for being the leader in joy for our family. We could not ask for a better son, and we are so proud of who you are.
Happy Birthday my love.
Enjoy being seven.