My youngest child has his 18th birthday.
There is something significant about your child becoming eighteen. Officially, he is no longer a minor, (ha! what do those lawmakers know about anything – they need a panel of seasoned mothers on retainer) He can vote. He can be drafted. I no longer need a designated guardian in the unforunate (but blessed) event that his father and I should be called to our place in eternity. He is now a college student (registered at least). He is now an employee (got his first real job this past week).
But, he is still my baby! Oh wouldn’t he cringe to hear me say that, but he is. He still comes and lays on the couch with me. He still wants me to get a splinter out of his hand. He still wants me if he feels sick. — He is still my little one (I don’t care if he is 6 feet tall with long hairy legs). Time has passed so fast. Just last year, his brother was at this place, now he is an experienced campus man! (how funny to hear him giving advice to his younger brother).
So, I send my heart and soul to you, my youngest. I love you more than you will ever know.
Happy Birthday, Love MOM
note: His birthday/graduation gift is the black and white “gee-tar” in the above photo. He is quickly becoming a self-taught guitarist. After consulting with a super guitarist on the praise team my hubby plays with, this was his choice. (it also looks like the one Eric Clampton plays 😉