My son is now 6. Undeniably, irrevocably six.
He had decided that he would not actually be six until his birthday party. And when his friends had left, he announced that he was pretty sure he was bigger and that he was definitely a big kid now. The cuteness, it may kill me!
I had convinced myself that we had until the hour of his birth--and then I realized that it would come earlier here, due to being in a different time zone from that of his birth.
He is a big boy now. He has grown at least two inches in the past four months. He is reading at least a grade level above. He's teaching me all sorts of facts about space. (I was flipping through a book he got at his party and discovered that there really is a dwarf planet in the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter. I had been under the impression that all dwarf planets were out in the Kuiper Belt with Pluto.) He didn't flinch at having ten other kids running around and touching his stuff for two hours. He remembered what I told him about opening presents politely.
And the truth is that I'm not really sad that he's growing up, just a little nostalgic. But mostly proud.
Happy Birthday, Scooter!