You asked for “a haircut” and “good marks on [your] report card” for your birthday. Your fascination with the political process in general and the electoral college in particular has been heartening this year as we consider all that you have to offer the world as you grow up. You have lots of good friends and are liked and appreciated by adults and children. The way you seek out babies and toddlers and play so joyfully with them, even when kids your age are waiting for you to play, makes your kid-loving mama so happy.
When you got your flu shot yesterday, you actually got out of the car to go into the pediatrician’s office. You also read your book until the last possible second without making a fuss. Okay, so maybe I had to lift you up a bit to get you to sit on that table, but at least the nurse didn’t have to pick you up from the floor by your pants this year, giving you a wedgie. On our way into the office, you reminded me that the wedgie was a lot worse than the shot itself back when you were six.
And that’s just it. You aren’t six anymore, or even seven. Today you are eight. That’s a pretty big number, Baxter.
Eight years ago you were born and I became a mother. You are an incredibly loving, sweet, curious and earnest child. I have loved these years of your early boyhood and recognize that you are on the verge of older childhood. This year will bring growth and much change for you once again, but I know that the essential you-ness will always be there. And that’s all I need.
Happy Birthday, my 8-year old. I love you.