Happy, happy 8th birthday, baby boy! I’ve said it every year and I’m sure I’ll keep saying it- I cannot believe you’re another year older. 8. Eight is huge. Eight is a kid. Not a toddler. Not a pre-schooler. Not a kindergartener. Not even a little boy. You’re a KID. You sweat and you stink and you have more wise remarks then I have hairs on my head. And you’re awesome.
When I describe you to other people, I usually call you a puppy dog. You’re just So Happy To Be Here, where ever here is. School? Love it. Baseball? Love it. Home? Love it. Car ride? Love it. You very rarely grumble and you’re always up for anything. If you do get it in a snit, you’re over it in no time. You love to see your friends but you’re happy to meet new people too.
This year was a great one for you. You rocked it out in 1st grade and you slid right into 2nd grade without any fuss. This year has been the year of Taking Responsibility. You’re learned the hard way (*cough*afewtimes*cough*) that you are in charge of you- your homework, your notebooks, your viola, and your stuff. We try very hard to help you stay organized but at the end of the day, it’s on you. Some days are better then others, but you’re learning.
You want to do well at everything. Even though you have 5 homework passes to use that gets you out of work, you never want to use them even if it means getting up at 6 am to finish work from the night before. But you’re not a perfectionist which is both nice and really frustrating. This is the first year you’ve gotten a few bad grades because you just rushed and didn’t pay attention to directions and you were both stricken and amused over the fact that the world didn’t end when you got your first 68% on a test.
This year you got pulled up to the next level in baseball. This means you’re playing with kids that are literally double your size- kids in 5th grade. Some of them wear an adult large jersey. You, bud, wear a youth small. I was (am) a basket case about this. You? You are just happy to be there. You try your hardest, you work hard and you have a freaking blast playing! You’ve completely held your own across the board and it’s so much fun to watch. You don’t get mad, you don’t get frustrated, you just do your best and never stop smiling. I see some of the older kids and while I’m sure they are awesome, they don’t seem to have your enthusiasm. Please, please, please- don’t ever lose that enthusiasm.
Last night, you were super upset because one of your hermit crabs may/may not be dying (who knows with them). So to cheer you up, I told you about the night you were born.
Your dad and I went to the movies that night to see Mission Impossible 2 and on our way there we drove over some roads that were torn to shreds by construction. It was an incredibly bumpy ride and we joked that if that didn’t bring on labor, nothing would. After the movie we got a late dinner and came home. I went into in bed a little after midnight and when I rolled over, I felt this POP and I knew immediately that my water broke. You have never seen such a large woman move so quickly as I vaulted out of bed and ran to the bathroom because you see, my water didn’t break gently- it broke with gusto and was getting everywhere.
I yelled for your dad that it was time. And he yelled back “Time for what?” Which made me laugh and laugh which made my water come out faster. When your father finally caught up with what was happening, he came leaping up the stairs and immediately slid on the water on the floor and almost did a complete split. Which made me laugh harder. Once I stopped giggling, I got cleaned up and grabbed our bags while your father vacuumed. Why? I don’t know- but he did the same thing the night I went into labor with your sister.
On the ride up to hospital we talked quietly as my contractions picked up about who we thought you may be. We tried and waited and prayed for your for almost 3 years. We spent all this time trying to get (and stay) pregnant that it wasn’t until then that it actually dawned on me that there would be a baby at the end of this car ride. We didn’t know if you were a boy or a girl or what we’d name you- but none of that mattered. You’d be ours.
Labor and delivery were as picture perfect as they come. You came out crying at 9:52 am with a shock of dark hair. A boy. My baby boy. You were perfect.
And you still are. You’re everything we hoped for, dreamed for and prayed over. I continue to wish you everything I did last year. Those are things I’ll always wish for you. But this year I’m adding in that I hope you never stop viewing life like a puppy. May you always be excited for everything life hands you and may you always be happy to be where you are.
Happy birthday, bubs. We couldn’t love you more if we tried.