Today our littlest biggest ham is 7 years old.
He's grown and changed so much, and yet...
He's still SUCH a Baby Ike.
He still likes that nickname, by the way, and has made me promise multiple times to never stop using it. Once in awhile, anyway. Maybe when it's just us. Just as a reminder that no matter how big he gets, he'll always be my baby.
At 7, he's bubbly and social and everyone is his friend. He'll flit from house to house in the neighborhood in search of playmates, until our entire cul de sac is filled with kids riding bikes, scooters and skates. Half of whom I've never even seen before. An epic game of hide-and-seek breaks out. The big kids play basketball until Ike talks them into joining the game, while he also hauls out bubbles and chalk for the little kids and the babies, who are not-so-secretly his favorite.
He still stops by his old kindergarten classroom every morning before school starts to give his teacher a hug. Every. Dang. Morning. I asked him how he's going to find the time to hug her AND his first grade teacher next year, and he said he guessed he better start training this summer.
He still does not want to cut his hair, but has only recently come to accept that his curly baby ringlets really are gone for good. He misses them, and routinely leaves old photos of himself on my nightstand, so "you can remember me forever."
Oh Baby Ike, like I could ever forget a single moment with you. Happy happy birthday, lovebug.