Son,

Seven years ago today, your mother and I were in shock. Okay, I was in shock, your mother was hungry and exhausted. You were late (which has been a trend since…), the family had been waiting 28 hours for your arrival, but you had taken your sweet time. In fact, you were asleep when you were born. Couldn’t even be bothered to cry until the nurse pricked your foot with a pin. But, there you were, 9 pounds, 5.5 ounces and 22.5 inches long. An amazing (but, not so tiny) bundle in my arms.

This morning, a seven year old creature bounded into my room to wake me up. You’re tall, well tanned (yes, I’m jealous), and still on the skinny side. You climbed up on my bed, gave your mother and I a kiss and asked if we could get up early for your birthday. This was the first time you ever showed any sympathy for waking your parents up early.

You still amaze me, though. You and your brother are the best thing to happen to us, but as the elder sibling, you tend to surprise us more (or first). You’ll start second grade in two weeks. You love reading and often do math for fun (that would be your father and mother’s influence respectively). You will bust out into song at the strangest moments. You can repeat from memory any commercial you’ve ever seen (a touch of your grandfather, there) and often do so at the strangest of times. You eat like a horse, but never seem to get wider. Just taller and with bigger feet. I hesitate to tell you about daddy’s awkward tall and thin years, but I think you’ll learn soon enough.

You are compassionate to everyone and everything. You empathize with people and animals. You think snakes are cute. You remind me that I don’t have to apologize for being angry, but I still do, and you still kiss me on the forehead and tell me it’s okay. You spontaneously hug people, including the dog. You watch over your brother, even when he doesn’t want you to, and you sing to him or tell him stories when he can’t sleep, even if he had to wake you up to do it.

You are mischievous and adventurous. You often get so wrapped up in your head that you don’t realize that other people are around. We often accuse you of being rude, but I honestly think you just don’t realize that people are there. You’re not ignoring us, we just haven’t come on to the stage in your mind, yet. You can play by yourself for hours and then regale us for an hour more with the next part of the story that was weaving its way through your imagination. You climb things you shouldn’t and fling yourself off of great heights, all in the name of adventure (and often with a wink and a reminder that you know I used to do the same thing).

Becoming your dad has been quite the adventure for me. I went from focusing on me, to focusing on your mom and now I worry about nothing except you and your brother. I hate that there are moments that I’ll miss and try and make as much time as I can for everything. Anxiety overwhelms me when I kiss you goodnight or wave to you as you head into school. What if something happens to me? What if I miss something? It’s not healthy, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I am fascinated to meet the new you each morning.

I can see little changes working away behind your eyes as you watch something, the moment of understanding cross your face when you read or figure out something new. I have so much I want to do with you, and have to constantly slow myself down. Tomorrow is another day. Another day to read, adventure, drive cars, cast spells or just lay in the yard and watch the clouds. I am anxious to do everything with you, but afraid that it will be over too soon.

So, for today, I will say happy 7th birthday, son. I am still in shock, but have loved every day with you and can’t wait for tomorrow.