Birthday Bear

Today my son R turns 8. I can hardly believe it. Those little feet that once wore hospital bracelets (whose info we nervously Photoshopped out when posting the first pictures of him online) are now wearing some of my own socks, at least when one of us mistakenly puts my socks in R's drawer. I am trying not to let this be an excuse to not finish making socks for myself. Me: "Hmm, getting kinda tired of continuing the baby cable rib on the instep...maybe I'll just start the toe here and give these to R."

R is a great kid - funny, smart, kind, an amazing big brother and tremendously enjoyable company. He'll still let me hold his hand to cross the street and for a few seconds after. I know that's not going to last much longer. Man, I'm tearing up just thinking what a wonderful kid he is. Or, perhaps it is just leftover from watching a rerun of Dirty Dancing last night. I'm not an overly sentimental person, but I have never, repeat never, not needed a tissue when Jennifer Grey does the leap into Patrick Swayze's arms during the ending. I am not made of stone.

Happy Birthday Bear! I love you.