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Hard to believe that my baby turned 8 yesterday.
Eight still seems young, thankfully. Young enough to crawl into my lap. Young enough to need to inform me when he goes to the bathroom in the middle of the night. (And by, the way, what is up with that? At what age do you feel you can go to the bathroom in the middle of the night without informing people?) And (yes!) still young enough to crawl into bed with me when he's not feeling well.
Still young enough to get toys as gifts and not only clothes, money and gift cards!
But, it still seems hard to believe that the youngest member of the family is rapidly approaching double digits.
I still feel 21 in my head (those rose colored glasses help). So having children get older by necessity ages me. Just stop already!
I say all of this neglecting to mention that the oldest has hit 18. I did that mindfully though, because while I can convince myself I was 13 when I had Rowan, there is just no way I was 3 when I had Patrick.
And that brings me to the other cold, hard truth. This is probably the last birthday Rowan will have where all seven of us will be there to celebrate it. I am so excited for this next phase of Patrick's life, but also sad for the change it brings for the family (both good and bad).
It's hard to be sad when you see the excitement in this one's face though . . . .
|Rowan at 8|
|Dairy Queen cakes are the best!|
Love that sweet boy!