After an amazing amount of anticipation, Griffin turned eight this weekend.
Eight years old. My hell. Time flies.
Apparently eight year olds...
Like gluten-free, dairy free chocolate chip pancakes on their birthday, doused in maple syrup.
Backugan, Pokemon and other things their mothers just don't understand are totally awesome. And inspiration for many art projects and homemade games.
Think dads are the best. And a baby in mom's tummy is a close second, only because "the baby makes you so sick, it's awesomely ornery!"
Could eat tacos at every meal. And gets upset if it's not served.
Is favored by the puppy. By a lot. And he doesn't even feed her.
Is counting down the years until he moves out. (And? Really, dude? You're eight? And already talking about being 18 and moving out of here? Ouch.)
Would be happy to have friends over all day, everyday.
But would prefer not to be the center of attention.
Agrees he's still my baby. Forever. No matter what.