At six months, he was talking, and by ten months, he was walking, and now, at six, he asks questions about heaven, and love, and life, and death. He loves telling people he was born in Florida, and so do I. Our little beach baby. He’s so filled with wonder and hope. They say that time passes quickly with your children, that all of a sudden you look up and they’re walking, and talking, and they’re starting school, and driving, and they’re moving away to start their own lives. Lately, I’m hit with an overwhelming feeling of time passing quickly, too fast for me to grab hold of these moments, too fleeting for me to properly appreciate them. How much longer will he be my little boy? It takes my breath away, and there’s nothing I can do to slow it down. Lord, let him always love me like he does now; let me always be his safe place; let him know we will always be his home; and Lord, let me be around for as many moments of his life that I can.

Happy Birthday, my sweet, hilarious, adventure-seeking, precious boy. I am forever changed by you.

He was acting tough in his new school clothes that he had picked out, wearing clothes with sizes that no longer ended in ‘T’ and were covered in big boy sports imagery instead of smiling dinosaurs. He was too cool with his new Pac Man backpack, with his packed-for-the-first-time Pac Man lunchbox, with the cool hemp-and-clay-mushroom-necklace-from-the-90s he had found in one of his daddy’s memorabilia boxes and now proudly used to accessorize his mostly-matching clothes. We had talked all year about what to expect in kindergarten, about how fun it was all going to be, and he was bubbling with excitement all summer, telling everyone how he was starting kindergarten soon.