Oliver: Mommy, I'm bored with my birthday. I don't want to be four. I want to stay a little boy so you'll always think I'm cute.
So insightful, my little one. This occurred while he and I were "puzzling". The older he gets, the more I realize he and I are just alike. And just like me, he's going to be acutely aware of every passing day, every precious, fleeting moment. He realizes what it means to grow up. Maybe not really (in a way he can explain)--but he senses it and that, to me, means more than understanding. So it made me a little sad. And a little proud. And I wanted to agree with him (I don't want you to grow up either, Oliver). But I didn't. Instead, I just touched his dark hair, congratulated him on the two puzzle pieces he fit together and assured him that he will always, always, always be cute in my eyes.
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