My oldest baby turns seven today.
Last night, we snuck out on an adventure. Just the two of us, away from the little ones who made him a brother and stole two thirds of the attention he once had to himself. I let him lead the way. He dipped his toes in the lake for a minute and then, in classic Noah fashion, traded the muddy water for dry rocks so that his feet wouldn’t get dirty.
We sat and climbed and collected feathers. He switched between discussions about Spiderman, poop jokes, and existential questions – again in classic Noah fashion.
“Mommy what happens after all the humans die?”
“I’m not sure. What do you think happens?”
“The world is over.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“Sad.”… *Poop joke*
I asked him what his favorite thing about himself is and with some thought, he answered “the color of my eyes”.
I agreed, but really, I love his mind the most. His mind and his heart. And those gray-blue eyes.
All of him. I love all of him the most.
