I don't know how this is even possible, but my little boy, my LAST little boy is turning seven today. Seven? Really? Somehow that seems waaaaaaay older than six. I don't know if it's because he's the youngest, but he's quite the character. Funny. Sassy. Too big for his britches. Sweet. Noisy. Dirty. Spoiled rotten. Smart as a whip. Every day he does something that makes me laugh out loud. Sometimes it's just a look, or his outfit, I think we've established that he's a mess. And I simply refuse to believe that this little guy is turning into a big guy. SEVEN?!?
So even though he's already had his big birthday party, we will all go to his beloved CiCi's Pizza for dinner tonite. He will lose at least one token under a game (happens every time). His Grandparents and cousins will call to sing him "Happy Birthday". He will open one final present - a handmade John Cena journal that he will absolutely adore. He will be tucked into bed tonite with a belly full of pizza, his blanket knitted by Grandma, his stuffed Mario & Luigi, and he will listen to his Pat Metheny album (just like every single night since he was born), and most likely have dreams of wrestling The Rock and The Undertaker. And I will go to bed wondering where the time goes.............
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