He's Eight

Where does that time go? It never seems to stand still long enough to take it all in that you want to. My baby boy is eight. That's half-way to sixteen, which as I well know is practically grown. By then he'll have hair in his arm pits, a low voice and be taller than me. He'll be looking at girls not just as someone that chases him on the playground, but as a potential...well let's not get carried away. He's only eight right now, and at eight they still adore you and kiss your face and want you to sing to them at night and lay by them from time to time. When they're eight they still play with swords and legos and write stories where half the words are misspelled and the letters are large. The imaginary world of ninjas, cowboys, swords and heroes are what his play is made up of. He still thinks he can be multiple things at the same time when he grows up, like a scientist, inventor, ninja and daddy. Yes, he wants to be a daddy most of all. He tells us he wants to have lots of children when he finds a wife. He says that he will try washing their mouths out with soap when they sin instead of spanking them. He reasons that that method would be much more effective. He also says that he plans to never lie to his wife like his daddy lied to me. He prays at night that God would make him faithful to her and it breaks my heart and comforts me all at the same time.

Yes, he's only eight...so I still have more time. Time for kisses and tickles and karate demonstrations. More time to correct the spelling in his handwritten books and be the one to offer the comfort of a bandage after a bad fall. For now I can still get away with calling him my baby and singing the same lullabies to him at night that I began singing 8 years ago. What a delight he is...and continues to be.

He is eight.