Today You Are Seven

Today you are seven.

Seven is a game-changer when it comes to motherhood. It’s the gateway to big kid land. It’s saying goodbye to the baby days. The chubby cheek days. The extra hand tucked into yours any time you walk down the street days. But it’s also the beginning of so much more.

Today you tell everyone you are 4’3″ tall. I haven’t verified that account firsthand because it makes me sad to picture you so big. But it’s what you tell them. You weigh 60 something pounds. I think.

Today you are all Michael Jackson. We just took you to Las Vegas for your first time to see his show there and you watched it in pure awe, jumping up to dance when it moved you, sitting back to take it all in quietly when it felt like the right thing to do. My favorite moment of the weekend may have been when you saw the billboard with half-dressed women on it. Those almost seven year old eyes couldn’t believe what they were seeing. We laughed and kept walking.

Today you are sports. Lots of sports. Playing a little, following some, talking about it a lot. Team names and famous players and stats that have seemingly come out of thin air into your memory and locked themselves in. You collect baseball hats and one night last week I found you awake at 5 in the morning, curled up on the couch by yourself, watching SportsCenter. I sent you back to bed.

Today your favorite color is red. Your favorite food is (still) pasta though you can also appreciate a fish taco and have tried oysters, sushi, blue cheese and more. You’re an adventurous taster. Not an eater quite yet. But definitely open to tasting. You get the odd lemonade now with dinner. A baby no more.

Today you are skinny jeans and running shoes and t-shirts. Socks are an issue. You would not adjust well to living in a cold climate.

Today you are defining your voice as a little brother. You are forging your own path, making (some of) your own decisions, and finding your way. But never without checking behind you to make sure she has your back. And you still love to sleep in her room when you need some extra comfort.

Today you have a laugh that fills a room. It’s infectious. Bright, bubbly, giggly, hysterical. It lights up my world. I hope you always laugh just like that.

Today you are kind. You think of others first. You cry for those less fortunate. You wait your turn and say thank you without being prompted. Your heart is big. It’s one of a kind.

Today you are deep brown eyes and dark brown hair that shimmers with gold when the sun is just right.

Today you are the deep end and no training wheels and jumping onto anything you can find. You are very into American Ninja Warrior and scale the walls of our house like you are in competition, narrating your every move in the announcer voice that you love so much.

Today you are seven. Yesterday, when I told you it was your last day of being six, you cried. You didn’t want to grow any older. You didn’t want to turn seven. You didn’t want anything to change, you said.

And I feel the same, kid.

But today you are seven. And you are going to be really darn good at it. I just know it.

Happy birthday, Kai.