There are two grown men that live in my house. One is my husband. The other is the 40-year-old man that is trapped inside the body of my 8-year-old son.
This is the boy who stays abreast of speed limits in our city and alerts me when I’m exceeding them.
He’s the boy who can use words like “vortex” and “nocturnal” with the same ease that other little boys say “boogers”.
He’s the boy that will cut short a dessert because he says he’s “had too much sugar”.
And when he expressed some anxiety over a bad dream the other night, he gladly noted how safe our home is since we’re “secured by ADT.”
Oh, I love that boy.
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