We’re at the halfway point. In another nine years, you’ll be an adult. I have no idea how we got here. And, – I don’t mean to scare you – but we really have no clue how we’ll raise you in the next nine either.
When you made your pink, wrinkly, wailing arrival into our world, your dad and I were first-time parents. We fumbled our way through diapers and discipline, feedings and fusses, baths and bedtime. But God covered our messes with His grace. And He still does. Every single day. Despite our epic goof-ups, you’ve turned out to be a creative, kind-hearted, soulful young man.
We love how you defy “little boy” labels. I’ve never had to explain away your behavior with the weak excuse that “boys will be boys.” We love how you sit on the green armchair in the living room, every fibre of your being absorbed in the latest antics of Calvin and Hobbes. Or how you journey through Narnia with Lucy and her buddies in your wildly creative mind. We love how you can’t wait to get your hands on a piece of paper to effortlessly sketch Simba or Aladdin or one of those weird Pokémon characters. We love that you hug your grandparents goodbye without being told. We love that you’re super polite — even while playing football. (That gets a little frustrating sometimes, but it shows that you won’t ever carelessly walk all over someone.)
Read more over at Indiaanya