Yesterday my little angel of light turned 8.
This is the boy they had to knock me out to deliver.
The tiny 4-days-late fetus in distress who started life with his eyes wide open.
The Cub Scout who, after a troop-wide crying homesickness jag on the second night of a camping trip, went over to his troop leader, hugged him, and said “I love you Ivan. I even like you.”
He is small in stature with an enormous heart.
He shouts and cries and dances and sings in any key he wants to (usually an unknown one).
He scrapes himself and wears his day on his shirt.
And on his way out the door to his life he says, easily and without prompting, sometimes with an old contented sigh in his voice, “I love you Mommy.”