My Baby

For the past couple of weeks, Connor has indulged me when I've climbed into bed with him at night. "You're almost seven!" I exclaim. "When did you get to be so grown up?!?!" He gives me a little laugh and lets me hug and kiss him before finally dismissing me with an "I'm pretty tired, Mom."

He's still my baby boy, still sweet and loving and occasionally cuddly. More often than not, though, we get our physical affection in through rough housing and tickling and whatnot. But when he's tired and worn out, he still wants to love on me. I'm so glad. I'll take it as long as I can get it!

Each day I pick him up and lift him over my head. "Do you think I'll be able to do this when you're seven?" I ask. He just laughs and dares me to try it. And I will, every day until he's too big and I'm too feeble. He predicts that day will come when he's 29 years old, and I hope it's not a minute sooner.

Here's a picture from each of his birthday parties. It seems like just yesterday he was a baby, and now, as trite as it sounds, he really is a "big boy."

I love you baby! Happy birthday!