Seven

That's how old my son is today. It feels so unreal to say that I have a seven year old child. Every day he's maturing a bit more, learning new things, growing up, and growing away from me. Soon those snuggles in our bed in the morning will go away. The wanting hugs will be no more. The kisses goodnight, the bedtime stories, the hanging out together will be gone. I can already see it disappearing a bit now that he has a close friend, but it hasn't vanished completely.

I guess I sound a bit clingy and whiny with my son, but he's pretty much my world. I know I'm not Mother of the Year at all times, but I think I've done a respectable job. I hope he thinks so when he's older and looks back on his younger years.

Okay, enough of this depressing shit.

I am utterly and completely proud of my son. He has overcome lots of speech difficulties and has improved beyond measure. He is a whiz in Math (and I know he doesn't get that from me), and almost achieved straight A's this quarter. The damned C in ART (WTF?) threw that off, but still! He did remarkably well for a six year old. He finally made a good friend, one that wants to come over and hang out with him and isn't a little vicious shithead. I am glad of that. We took them to Chuck E. Cheese yesterday, and they had a blast. His friend is well raised, smart, and can calm my son down when he gets a wee bit hyper.

I am also proud that my son wanted to join the Cub Scouts and learn new things. Yeah, I know the organization itself (the Boy Scouts) is completely against Atheism and Homosexuals, but I couldn't say no when his eyes lit up about all the things the Scouts do. I've tried to instill in him that everyone deserves to be treated fairly and equally, but I don't think he's old enough yet to understand that some people just hate for the sake of hating. I wish I still had that innocence. I hope he's able to hold on to it for a bit longer.

Tonight, we looked at some pictures of him as a baby. It hurt my heart to see him as a tiny little thing. He made me grow up, he forced me to be responsible, to think of others before myself. It did me a world of good, and I thank him for that. I only wish I could have held on to it all for a little longer. It seems like time is just flying by now.

My little grasshopper, I love you so much. Happy birthday. Mommy is too emotional now to write anymore.

Oh, and lest I ever lose the link, here is a piece that Daddy wrote about you and him and your times at Wrigley Field.