This post will have to be somewhat of a short one, due to this subject being a little touchy for me.
Oct. 23rd was Mason’s seventh birthday and Nov. 4th is Logan’s tenth. It absolutely kills me to see them getting older. Honestly, that is because I’m a selfish person and I don’t want them to get any older than the cute, yet sometimes irritating, ages that they are.
One day they’ll have jobs and they’ll be driving. I’ll be worried sick and I’m sure I’ll irritate them as well. I’ll show them how to work on their trucks and I’ll be the most intimidating big sister there ever was when the girlfriends start coming around.
Of course, none of the jobs or girlfriends or facial hair and deep voices will be enough to make me see them as anything other than those sweet baby boys that I took care of as a kid. I remember feeding them their bottles. I remember laying on the living room floor with them watching cartoons. I remember diapers, tiny socks, stuffed animals, and tantrums. I’ll never forget that Logan’s first word was “sissy” and I’ll always remember the way their little voices sound. No matter how big they get, they’ll always be my baby brothers.
