So, Dain is nine now. As of August 9th.

How, may I ask, does such a thing happen? The passage of time is incomprehensible to me, and it gets old quickly. This kid. What can I say about him? He is my challenge and my joy. Snuggly and little one minute, rambunctious and loud the next. I don’t understand him all the time, but I love him deeply.

He is my last born, the bearer of all my “last firsts” as a mother. He often gets overlooked, to both his detriment and his benefit. The downside is that I often plan the least for his birthday, and think of him last when planning playdates and sleepovers. The upside is that I forget that his brother was doing a lot more around the house at his age, so I have to be conscious in spreading the workload a little more evenly.

His freckles just melt my heart, and his eagerness to please touches my warm fuzzy feelings. I’m a bit of a sucker for him, as hard as I try not to be. And I overcompensate sometimes by being harder on him than I should.

He is sweet, cuddly, hilarious, goofy, serious, devoted, friendly, and affectionate. He is challenging, mysterious, soft-spoken, clever, and distracted. I can’t wrap my brain around him, and I’m done trying to understand him. I just love him. With all my heart. Always.

Happy birthday, Dain!

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