Little Squirt turned 8 over the weekend, which created a large amount of carousing and glee. He’s been counting the days since May, honest to goodness, and could hardly contain his excitement that the Birthday Weekend Spectacular had finally arrived. His peer party was held at Chuck E. Cheese’s, just as it was last year. When given a list of party venue options, he said with conviction, “Chuck E. Cheese again, Mom. Duh!” If it was worked last year, surely it’ll work this year, right? Logic. So Chuck E. Cheese’s it was, which Super Hubs, as a former Catholic, swears is one of the nastier levels of Purgatory. But Little Squirt had fun, and we survived.
On Sunday, the actual really real birthday, my 8yo sang with our church’s Children’s Vocal Team for all three services, and then toasted the finale by sharing cupcakes with his vocal teammates. Then it was on to a family birthday celebration with the grandparents, who brought the piece de resistance of the gifts; a brand new big boy bike. Eyes shining, he road the two-wheeler down the sidewalk past three houses, got a little nervous in the rain, then turned around and walked it back. “It’s great!” he said. “But I’m going to rest now.” New Bike Jitters.
My baby turned 8. (Big sniff.) How did that happen so fast? This child was supposed to take his time with the growing, and allow me to savor each little milestone. He, my sweet daily-joy-bringer, calls me his “Best Friend” and says he will live with me forever. I know better, but I’m soaking up the love while I can.
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