Today is my son’s half birthday. He’s 7 and a half. At this age, the half matters. It’s a pretty big deal to be able to say you’re 7 1/2. It’s way older than seven. It’s practically eight. To celebrate, we had a slice of coconut cream pie.
Recently someone asked if it makes me sad that he’s already 7 years old (and a half). It doesn’t. In fact, I’m a little worried that my mommy button is broken because it really, really doesn’t make me sad. Not in the least bit. Not even if I close my eyes, concentrate and inwardly search for the sad feeling. It’s not there.
I look forward to every year. I like watching him learn and grow, and accomplish what he wants — even if it’s as simple as being tall enough and brave enough to ride a roller coaster. He rocked that roller coaster, too. And while we were walking through the amusement park, I didn’t look at the kiddie rides and reminisce. I imagined him bringing his date to the park, and I smiled at the thought of him spending his money on funnel cake, fast passes, and whatever else might make their night extra fun.