Today my oldest child, D, turns 7 years old.
I have written before about how much I love him; about how much I have learned from him; about my challenges watching him grow up. He is my pride and joy. I simply adore that boy.
Not to say that raising him is all fun. He and I butt heads almost daily. We are very much alike: stubborn, willful and independent. Sometimes we'll be getting into an issue (eating his vegetables, getting up in the morning for school) and I'll think, "Aha! Karma!" for I'm sure my parents had similar issues with me as a child.
He is still a mama's boy, despite my fears earlier in the year. Just the other day he told me I was his "forever girl". He doesn't like me to put on lipgloss, telling me that I look beautiful already. And he loves his snuggles, hugs and kisses, especially at bedtime. When J is out of town on business, D begs every night to sleep with me.
I know it won't always be like this, and that sooner or later (hopefully later) he'll pull away. But until that day comes, I will cherish every hug and kiss.
Seven years ago, my life changed---for the better. I had no idea how big a hole was in my life until my sweet son came and filled it.