Austin, I'm in trouble because you're already into girls and they are into you.

This is how I see my son Austin. He's growing so fast that he moves in a blur-like fashion not waiting for anyone else to notice.

Dear Austin,

7 months old today, you are, and wow, never in my wildest, most colorful dreams did I imagine I wouldn't seriously damage you by now (although I did cut off trim the tip of your finger while clipping, but here's hoping you will not remember that plus the call to 911). New parents are terrified of the worst happening and trust me, I was running all those images through my head in vivid Technicolor. I still have most of my hair and you are totally and completely intact. So, I'd say mission accomplished so far.

When I was pregnant with you, boy, I could not wait to not be pregnant. It was so uncomfortable, but there are moments that were completely unforgettable like when in my 9th month of carrying you, I'd roll over in the morning and, in turn, you'd s-t-r-e-t-c-h and roll over in my belly (which technically it's called uterus, but belly sounds more cute, eh?).

There are letters I wrote to you while pregnant which still need to be printed out and put into sealed envelopes for you to open when 18 (that's the age because I don't want CPS coming by the house accusing my drinking Diet Cokes [just a few!] for the reason your toes are so long).

When rocking you to sleep each night, you spill over my lap, all legs and toes. I cannot help but think that you are the most perfect craft project I've ever completed and it only took 9 months. Rocking there, in the dim glow of your sock monkey nightlight it occurs to me that we've been through a lot already as mom and son. And while sometimes things were down, you always had a smile hidden within you that would burst out and make a bad day a beautiful, sunshiny day.

I love you Boo Boo,
Mama

P.S. Please stop flirting with 20-something girls, at least for now. It's freaking me out.