7

My preemie is 7. For some reason, that's a really big number for me.

It's like I could handle 4, 5, and 6 just fine. But 7? It's old.

I have a 7 year old boy.

He is a beautiful, smart and witty 7 year old.

Capable and sarcastic... but oh-so-loveable.

He's got big person teeth now. No more little baby teeth on top.

He gets a few more freckles every day. I love those freckles.

He does everything for himself now.

Except that I still dress him in the morning...

I put on his socks before he wakes so that he doesn't get cold feet.

I'm told by certain people that I shouldn't be doing this anymore.

But I don't mind it. It's the last piece of babyhood I have left from him.
When he's 16, if I'm still dressing him in the morning,
then we have a problem. But for now, my 7 year old still lets me
choose his shirt and jeans for the day and he lets me put on his socks.
I'm ok with that.

The snuggles still remain.

I still get the snuggles at night and

I will take those for as long as he lets me.

I love his expressions when he reads his birthday cards...

Happy birthday, sweet boy.

Your mama bear loves you more than

all of the stars in the sky and more than

all of the fish in the sea...