When I look at my son:
I see myself, in his rambling stories with 15 minutes of backstory, told at a volume that’s just a tad too loud.
I see my husband, in his sense of sticking up for people and doing the right thing even if it hurts.
I see both of us in the flash of restrained anger in his eyes when we really crack down on him.
I see the baby he was, all pudge and roundness.
I see the toddler that spoke his own language that only we knew.
I see the sensitive heart that I fear will be broken by some girl soon.
I see the older brother who offered his sister some of his Blizzard last night when he realized that her ice cream was alot smaller than his.
I see the amazing athlete waiting to fully emerge from his quickly growing frame.
I see the inquisitive, and slightly obsessive, mind that can focus like a laser on his favorite topics.
I see equal parts mad scientist and artist.
I see his faith and pray that it never waivers.
I see a bad liar which makes me thankful.
I see my first born child and hope that I haven’t messed him up too bad while I was learning to be a parent.
I see my child that I wish I could wrap in my arms and cuddle again without grossing him out.
I see a person that is growing so fast, physcially, mentally & emotionally, that I don’t know if I even really know him anymore.
I see the man he might become and it makes me proud, hopeful and thankful, all at the same time.