In Which My Newborn Baby Turns Eight

Toby is doing the strangest thing this week. Even though he’s my baby at heart, he is somehow turning eight…

Toby

One day old!

Toby

Wolfing it up.

Toby

Singing songs.

Toby

Staring at the pretzel truck.

Toby

Reading with Daddy.

Toby

Halloween dance.

Toby

Brothers.

Toby

Just two dudes eating muffins.

Toby

Going on a date.

Toby

Good grief, it’s you!

Toby

And this is eight.

Toby has always had a big personality. He chats with people on the street. He remembers everyone’s name. He loves to dance. He knows his style (especially blazers). He can have some hard times, but I really understand him, and I can see myself in him. He has been a joy to raise.

It’s funny, too, because these eight years have flown by, but I also can’t remember what my life was like before he arrived on the scene. Even when I think back on long-ago trips or dinners, my mind edits him into the memories, as if he was always there. (Wait, he wasn’t on our honeymoon?) Does that ever happen to you?

Happy Birthday, Toby! We love you!

P.S. Toby and Anton in conversation, and one thing that surprised me about parenting.




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