I remember when I was 8. It doesn't seem like it was that long ago.
Tonight as I was tucking her in for bed, we participated in the "night before your birthday" ritual I borrowed from my friend, Nancy. I looked long at her face and told her I was looking at her for the last time as a seven year old. Usually it's a battle of who will not crack a smile first--but tonight Molly started crying.
I don't know where she gets it from.
But as we talked, she shared that seven was a really good year for her and she wasn't ready to leave it behind.
It was the year she:
- was surprised with a trip to Disney World
- lost her first tooth--and then three more
- went to Myrtle Beach
- went to the fair
- got a pair of Twinkle Toes
- got an X-box/Kinect
- read her first Harry Potter books
- found out the truth about the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny
- still believes that Santa is alive and well ("because mom and dad would NEVER spend that kind of money on my presents")
- changed schools and met new good friends
- AND found out she was moving to the camp
Eight years passes faster than you realize. I miss those early days with my precious baby, but I'm looking forward to what's ahead.
Happy Birthday Mo!