His hair still sticks up, he’s just as curious, and he doesn’t fit in a basket anymore. Growth spurt alert as his burrito-gobbling abilities were twice normal the other night. I wonder what happened to that blanket? Seven has me on the run. I’m loving him, but not sure I like it yet. This older and wiser and thinking I’m hot stuff seven. The slowly-crumbling imaginary worlds: the knowing sidelong glances when he insists on something he knows isn’t true. That gun REALLY shoots air, mom, really! The impatience for summer now that he knows what summer means. The constraints of school and structure and resonsibility. The loss of so many things. I’m feeling them lately, with this firstborn of mine.