atticus' eighth birthday. (i mean, seventh. he's still only seven. forever.)

Atticus is eight.  Atticus is eight.  How did this happen?  Eight is the last year that can be considered a 'little' year, and even that is starting to stretch the truth.  A kid at the age of nine is clearly in Not Little Anymore Land... and eight is headed that direction.  

I need time to stand still.  I need it t roll itself backwards.  I need to go back to the days when he could only pronounce Penelope's name as "Puppy."

As it is, he eats far more than me at any given meal.  His feet and hands are nearing the size of mine.  His heart is bigger than mine, too, but that has always been the case, and I won't complain about that.

He wants to be a missionary to Syria or China when he grows up.  He wants to have six kids.  He wants to be in the army.  Clearly, he wants to lead a full, courageous life.  (He also wants to get married, but when asked about 'when' and 'to whom,' his quiet response was, "I don't know.  I'm still thinking it through.")

How can I fully describe the feeling of watching Atticus grow older?  His birthdays are my birthdays - the day he was born, part of me was born.  We have grown up together.  In that way, he has always been my peer, not just my child.  His birthdays always awe me and sober me.

I'm already proud of the Man-Atticus I catch glimpses of sometimes.  He is kind and considerate, thoughtful and deliberate, reliable and trustworthy.  He is funny and fun, hardworking and pensive.  He loves math and art, people and problem-solving.  He is, as always, Very Atticus.  I have a feeling he will always be Very Atticus.  I have a feeling I will have a ton of respect for the big person this not-so-little person is becoming.

Yesterday was a great day, made up of celebrating, remembering, and looking forward - which is what the very best birthdays are made of.  So, happy birthday to Atticus... and here's to hoping that he will turn eight again next year so I can buy myself just a little more time with him.