My first baby turned seven today. SEVEN. I know you are all tired of my essays on how time goes by too fast. But, it is true.
He was born.
I blinked my eyes.
He is seven.
And I’m going to blink my eyes again, and he will be fourteen. FOURTEEN. Hopefully, he will be as sweet and lovable as he is now. If he isn’t, I’m sure time will slow down drastically.
Seven things I hope we both remember…
You love to tell jokes. Your favorite is to say, “What’s under there?” To which I respond, “Under where?”…
“Mom, YOU SAID UNDERWEAR!”
You have all your baby teeth. See. Told you you’re still my baby.
Sometimes you ask for 100 kisses at bedtime, and then burst into a fit of giggles when I try to give them to you. Then you ask me to sing the funeral song before you go to sleep.
At seven, your career goal is to be the quarterback of the New Orleans Saints and play in the SuperDOAN.
You always ask your daddy to tell you stories about when he was a little boy. And, you ask us to tell you about when you were a baby.
Graham calls you Wellsy. I think it is the cutest and hope neither of you decide you are too cool for it later. You are a great big brother.
You have a huge imagination, and never met a steak or a book fair you didn’t like.
Happy Birthday, Wells.
“I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, as long as I’m living my baby you’ll be.”
p.s. I hope we both forget that I scheduled your dermatologist appointment on your birthday. And, that while checking in I asked the receptionist, “What kind of mother schedules her child’s first GYNECOLOGIST visit on his birthday?”
Yes. Let’s forget about that.
