Though I specifically told him not to, Luke went ahead and turned 11 today.

This kid is killing me with this growing up nonsense.  The snuggliest, quietest, sleepiest, contentedest (that should totally be a word) baby on the planet has become the most thoughtful, caring, sweet, engaging little boy.  Who maybe isn’t so little anymore, but who still fits so nicely right up under my chin when I hug the bejeesus out of him.  Which I try to do on a daily basis, because damned if his feet aren’t bigger than mine already and frigged if his voice isn’t taking on the slightest of lower tonation.  When THAT happened I’m completely unaware.  I woke up one day and there was that raspy voice of his, only deeper.  If you think I’m not paying attention, buddha in the sky, well, I AM.

Let him stay little, won’t you?

11 years of sparkle.