Happy Birthday to my baby

I can no longer hug, kiss, or say I love you in public. I can no longer act like a concerned parent unless he says it's okay. I can't say he's cute, only that he's cool. I can't pick out his shoes, because I no longer know what shoes are in style. I can still pick out clothes, but not all the time. I no longer tell him how to wear his hair, because really, it's not worth the fight.

My baby is growing up. He says things like Yes, Ma'am and No Sir without being told. He has been on the All A Honor Roll since kindergarten. He thinks for himself, enjoys a challenge and has an extremely wonderful sense of who he is at this age. He knows what he likes, he isn't afraid to speak his mind, and most of all, he actually knows about respect and the truth. And, most importantly (to him anyway), girls aren't quite so icky and gross anymore.

My baby, named for himself and my baby brother, is eight years old today!

One of my favorite pictures of Rotten1 - at two years old.

And one from earlier this month