The summer sun has a way of bringing about the cutest dots on his face. They decorate his nose with little specks that make him the boy replica of my younger self. His spunk, his energy, his charisma and emotion, all pieces of me. The more the years go by, the more I recognize myself within him. It’s both a gift and a treasure.
In just days this freckle-filled little boy will turn seven, as if the past few years have slipped through my fingers like sand. He is so incredibly different and also very much the same. It’s hard to comprehend that he’s the same boy that used to say “wuv you vewy mush” and enjoy kisses on the lips. Now, his clear speech and cheek-only kisses make his maturity undeniable. Losing the remaining pieces of his little.
As he gains candles on his cake, my love for him grows deeper than the ocean and limitless like the sky. Watching him grow is a beautiful blessing, the kind of blessing that aches with both joy and melancholy. It’s a longing for the things that he’s left behind and excitement for all the things to come. It’s looking at the miracle you’ve created and wondering how you got so lucky. Seven years lucky to be exact.
In just days he’ll blow out the seven candles strategically placed on his Star Wars cake. He’ll start a new year of growth. A new year of transformation. A new year of stealing extra pieces of my heart and soul, the way each of my children do. A new year of making me proud, making me crazy, and making me appreciate all that he is, the great and the trying.
A new year.
Year seven.
A year to shine brighter than the last, bigger than the six before, and bolder than he’s used to.
Happy Birthday, sweet boy. We are seven years blessed by your presence. Seven years blessed by your love, and seven years better from your arrival.
