Tomorrow Sam turns 10, so this is our last snapshot of his single digit years:
I think he looks happy? We’re not messing up too terribly, right?
He was still up reading at 11:53 pm, so I yanked him out of bed. It was only seven minutes until his birthday, and I needed to clutch him close and tell him that the past decade has been the most blessed of my life.
Being someone else’s dream come true is a lot of pressure, but I figured seven minutes of showing it wouldn’t scar him too terribly.
So we spent seven minutes together, counting down until midnight. He sprawled across my lap; his head still fit in the crook of my elbow, but his legs sprawled halfway across the couch. When did that happen?
Tomorrow is just another day, but it already feels so different. Is there any chance we can slow things down for the next 10 years?
Happy Birthday Sam… we love, love, love you!
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