Today my middle child turned 8 and it’s all I can do not to grab him from his slumber and swaddle him in a baby blanket and rock him and sing him off-key lullabies until I go to sleep because honestly, I can hardly stand that he is another year older.
This kid never ceases to amaze me.
He practically came out of the womb speaking full, grammatically correct sentences in a strong, husky voice.
In fact, on his birthday wish list, among the bass pro shop gift card, the guns, the fishing poles and the cowboy gear, he also requested knitting needles and yarn… any color, he said, except pink.
Pink might ruin his manly reputation.
I suppose swaddling might do the same.