To my 8 year old son:
On my way to bed the other night I checked on you like I always do. As I walked into your room, my throat clenched as I saw your peaceful, calm, daddy long legs body restfully sleeping. I was reminded in that moment that you are still my little boy.
You may not be my little baby anymore, but you are most certainly still my little boy.
I’m grateful for you.
I took a picture to remember your face as it is in this moment. Peaceful. Still young. Still learning and testing and pushing limits. You try so hard to be big. Smart. Mature. Strong.
But you’re still my little boy.
You have a baby sister that can eclipse your innocence. I will tell myself more often to pause and enjoy your growing moments too. You are still growing! You are far from done, and sometimes I forget. I forget when you stomp away angry at something, or demand justice for yourself with your hand on your hip, or ask to be left to play with your friends. I forget that you are still right now the youngest you will ever be from now on. I will continue to take pictures of you to help me remember that.
I want to have pictures and videos of all your silly faces and bad jokes to look back on when you’re 13. When I want to remember that you used to like me and think I was great.
I am not sure how much i’m going to like the teenage you, but I know without a doubt I will still love you to the moon and stars and back, infinity times.
I’m so proud of you.
You are my amazing little man, and I helped make you. (You’re dad may have helped a bit)
I love you,