Laying on a blanket in the shade with a book. That's my boy.
It was about this time eight years ago today that the doctor started talking about "forceps". At this point I gathered all the strength in every fiber of my being and pushed him into the world. He made me a mother.
Yesterday, he took some of his buddies to see The Last Airbender, followed by a water balloon fight in our backyard, "water bending", and make-your-own-ice-cream-sundaes.
Every year, on my children's birthdays, their father and I each write them a letter. We do not read each others letters and the boys do not yet know of the letters' existence. They are sealed with the boy's name and the year written on the front and kept in the safe.
When we think they are old enough, they will get their packet of letters as a gift on their birthday. Something tells me it will be like their 25th birthday!
I've been thinking a lot about what I am going to put in his birthday letter this year. It seems like he has grown up so much recently. This is the joy and the heartache of parenthood. They cannot be yours forever. You get to launch them into the world and marvel at their accomplishments. You get to comfort them in their hard times and all the while they are slowly but surely moving distinctly away from you.
He is not my baby anymore, but the baby he was will always be with me. I love the boy he is and the man he will become more with each (quickly!) passing day.