The 8 Year Old The Size of a Grandma

Mini-Husband is 8 today.

Holy shit, those years have flown by. Seriously, flown by.

I still remember the weekend he was born. It's a nightmare that, even though I've since had 3 other children, I get the shakes and start to whimper when I think about it. It's one of those fabulous nightmare stories of just how long something the size of a large packet of tortilla chips can take to be eaten at a foie gras party. I should have known that if he was so stubborn about being born, he'd be stubborn about a hell of a lot of other things through out his life.

He's grown so tall this last year, that when I got to hug him now, he can bang his head into my chin. He's grown so strong that he has started to ask if he can carry Rosebud in the backpack when we head up to school. He's grown so smart that he can read in French and English and even his teacher compliments him on his beautiful writing. He's just grown so much, in every way.

We still fight with him about his room, about his shoes in the hallway, about taking way too long in the shower, about not focusing on the task at hand, about not helping. It's obvious when he tries to argue his side of things just how much that brain has become turned on in the last year. The explosion of personhood is fast upon him and us.

He is wonderful. He is busy. He is difficult. He is beautiful. He is what changed our lives forever. The love I feel when I see him, hug him, argue with him, watch him laugh and smile. All that is worth every second of that birthing nightmare. How can it only be 8 years when I feel like I've loved him for thousands?

Happy Birthday, Mini-Husband. Godspeed for you in everything you dream...