This tiny boy who is all of the sudden filling out and becoming a BOY, not a tiny baby.
Oh, but he'll always be my baby. He's beautiful. He wants me to sing to him. He touches my face.
And he's my last little. So I will hang onto him a little longer, hold his hand a little more, and yes, likely baby him a bit too much.
Happy Fourth Birthday Greyson, Greybird, Bird Edward.
If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, (even if we don't speak often) please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me.
It can be anything you want - good or bad - BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.
When you're finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON'T ACTUALLY remember about you.