First of all, I guess at some point in your life we should stop calling you that. It started as a blog nickname, but Daddy and I find ourselves still calling you that.
And now you are eight years old! A big boy. I keep telling you that your behavior needs to be that of an 8 year old, not a 7 year old anymore. 7 was tough, behavior-wise, bud. But thankfully, never ever in school. At school, you are as good as can be and well-liked by everyone. Your report card shone with good grades and glowing comments about your listening skills and self control.
So this year we'll work on getting that school behavior to carry over into our Trenches. We know you can do it. But we also know it's hard to be the youngest in a family of boys. You're fighting for your place and for attention, and sometimes the only way to do that is by acting out. I get it.
Experts on birth order say that babies of the family are social and outgoing and are also the most financially irresponsible of the siblings. This is so you. You win people over immediately with your big brown eyes and impish grin. I can't even count the number of times I hear "He's soooo cute!" about you. And yes, money burns a hole in your pocket. If you have even $5, you're begging to go to a store to spend it. Or you bring it with you to baseball and hit up the concession stand for copious amounts of sugar. You are my sugar fiend. You haven't met a candy that you don't like. And gum too. Chipmunk cheeks full of gum.
Baby, you completed our family and with you, we got My Three Sons. The world is a brighter, sillier and much more active place with you in it.
May you always keep your determination and spark.