As I am writing this, you are proudly burping at the desk across from me. Every time, you ask delightedly, “Did you hear that?”. Every time I say, “Of course I did”. Because of course I did.
For your birthday today, along with a few other things, I bought you a book where the main premise had to do with farts. Super farts that could make you fly into the air.
This is you at 8. My son. My boy. Farting and burping.
But so much more. You a genius on the computer. What you know how to do honestly astounds me. You have surpassed my knowledge by leaps, and I’ve found myself asking you how to do things on a number of occasions. Your Grandma likes to say that maybe you’ll be the next Bill Gates. She may not be far off.
You are brilliant and beautiful and excited. Dramatic and loud. A torpedo of constant motion and conversation. And as much as you complain when your siblings invade your space, as impatient as you can be, I also see how you look out for them when you think no one is watching. You make sure Buzz is safe at school and you comfort Abby when she’s upset. You are a wonderful big brother.
I am so proud of you in so many ways. And as I finish writing this, as if right on cue, you exclaimed, “Now that I smell it, my farts really do smell bad”.
My farting, burping, smelly, amazing now 8 year old boy.