Monkey boy is seven now. Seven years! Holy crap, seven years! I still remember holding his wee body, panicking about the cries, and patting his back for hours while we tried to have him return to sleep in his crib. I still relish that sweet feeling of having him nap on my chest or seeing him sprawled between J and I with one of his hands touching me and the other touching J.

We marveled at his ability to commando crawl, walk, use sign language and talk. There were endless treks around the bed with his cars, constant talk about cars and trucks, and demands to drive on the busy highway.

There were a few years of anxiety over transitions and although the anxiety can reappear he has learned to cope and become confident. He has traveled to Alberta (several times), Mexico, Rome, and Montreal. He continues to snuggle with us but these occasions are fewer and farther between than in the past. He still needs his baby Clarence (stuffed monkey) and Pipsqueak (stuffed dog) along with a clock and night light in order to sleep. He has fallen in love with sports especially soccer. He loves the outdoors and being active. He is obsessed with playing electronic games (Xbox Kinect and Leapworld). He enjoys playing with his sister even if he has a lot of rules.

He is kind, loving, silly, and creative.

He is my monkey boy and I love him so.