He loves to read. LOVES.TO.READ. And he reads everything, including when I’m texting someone – he’s right there, reading. And his reading turns into copious amounts of knowledge for which I’ll never know if it will provide some use to him in the future. Nevertheless, his brain is like a sponge and he soaks it all in.

Reading is his thang. He gets that from me.

He also gets from me: his inquisitive mind, his crankiness when he’s tired, his never-ending questions about anything, his silly little temper tantrums (did I just admit that?), his love of technology, his need to eat breakfast in the morning, his sensitive-emotional side with his heart forever dangling from his sleeve, his dorky jokes that only he and I get because we find humor in odd things, and his need for 2 cookies and a glass of milk before bedtime. (However, since it was not contributing to losing the baby weight – I can still call it baby weight when the baby is 17 mos, right? – I decided to cut out that habit.)

I never knew a boy like my Brennan until he became my son.

When he was born, a song by Reba McEntire had been released called “He Gets that from Me” and I can never listen to it without crying. Like right now.

Back then, when he was just a little miracle butterball, I never really knew how much he was like me or how much I needed him. How his very existence has completely shaped me as a human being. How my heart swoons when I see him out, and he runs to me, hugs me and tells me he loves me. Not a fret about what his friends may say. Because it’s important to show love, give love, say love.

Every day.

_____________________________

Today, you turned 7 years old. I still have trouble grasping the fact that I can never slow down time. That I can’t freeze it. That I can’t go back.

That I have to let you grow up someday.

And every year, I watch you grow into an even more amazing young man than the year before. I’m sure proud of you, son. Makes me almost want to get an airbrushed T-shirt emblazoned with, “My Son Makes Me Proud.”

And I watch you. The wonder in your eyes when you tell a story, when you’re trying to figure out something, when you’ve had an epiphany and you’re totally amazed (just like me.) I’m always amazed at you. And the dork in me always thinks about the blessing it is to be your mother, that God chose a pretty awesome dude to be my son. And that He granted me the luxury of being your mother.

Happy 7th birthday, my sweet Bren – you are loved beyond measure.

-mom