Here’s a fun fact: Noah has had six birthdays on this blog. SIX. That’s 75 percent of his lifetime birthdays. First was three, when he was so miniature and delicious I want to eat that picture of him right up, pixels and all. Then came four, when I said a little more, and then he turned five and I went into video overdrive (hang on, I’ve decided to rhyme). Six was the year where I got my poetry fix. And seven is not going to rhyme because I don’t want it to.
Now he’s eight.
He is kind, he is thoughtful, he is inquisitive and caring. He’s taken on the role of First Kid with grace and wisdom, and we are a better family because he is right smack dab in the middle of it.
He takes showers instead of baths, gets his own breakfast, does division in his head—he’s leaving little kid-dom behind. And I can’t wait to see what happens next.
If you turn the number 8 on it’s side, it’s infinity. And that is the very best word to describe how much I love him.
Happy birthday, our best Noah, our First Kid, our beautiful boy.