Seven

My dear, sweet, baby boy,

Today you are seven. I'm not even sure how that happened. You sprouted overnight into a big kid; a really funny, sweet, helpful, and kind one.

I cry a little on every birthday of yours, because I know we are so lucky to have you, alive and well and thriving. My heart grew out of my chest the day you were born, and it sits on my sleeve when I think and talk about you. (you can read his birth story here.)

You are my sweet spot on a sour day, and your dimples make me melt.

Your bright blue eyes light up the entire room, and your one-liners make me laugh for days.

I love that you still suck your thumb.

I love how you line up everyone's shoes by the door because you know I hate trying to find the matches.

I love how you wrap your arms around my neck when I tuck you in.

I love your heart, it's a good one. It's a helping heart; a kind heart; one that can be easily broken but just as easily mended.

I love your fiery spirit; you'll need that in this sometimes harsh world.

I love the pictures you draw for me. It's the same one every time. You and me and flowers. To mama, From Camden, I love you.

I love how you walk around the house saying, I'm going to miss this house, a lllooottt of good memories were made here. 

I love the fact that you can repeat movie lines word for word. Not many people can do that, you know?

I just really love you. All of you. Even your slamming-the-door-screaming-I-hate-my-life!!!-outbursts you have. Even when you call me an old grandma. Even when you tell me you hate my cooking. I know you love my chocolate cake and that's all that counts.

I hope your seventh year is your best year yet. I hope your love and joy for life and baseball never dies. I hope you always love me like you do right.now. And, I hope you forgive Katelyn for ruining your birthday morning by yelling and screaming and throwing 9736 tantrums before 7:30 this morning.

Love, mama