Eight.

Yep. That pretty much sums up the expression on my face as it dawned on me that my baby was turning 8. EIGHT!? You mean eight years has gone by since that night I sat and watched "Sweet Home Alabama" and quietly timed contractions? Eight years has gone by since we loaded up, with the dog in the car because mama said "surely it's false labor", and drove to the hospital without my packed and staged 'hospital bag'? Is it really possible that it's been eight years and I can still hear Jimmy yelling from the hallway of the hospital "Luke the Drifter!"? Eight years since I called my daddy in the middle of the night and told him he was about to be a grandpa but "don't worry and just stay in bed and get some sleep" and against my advice he was there in a heartbeat. He was first to hold you, you know. Well, right after I held you anyways.and because it was "false labor" the camera failed to make it to your birth. so all the pictures we have of you as a newborn are of you as young as the ripe old age of 24 hours.

Eight years. And it's all still so vivid in my mind. I'm certain it always will be. Because that's just the way Lukas is. So impressionable. Leaves a mark on your heart.

Happy 8th birthday to my firstborn. Can't wait to see what the next eight bring.

oh my goodness I just realized that when the next 8 rolls around you will be wanting your driver licence! Help me Rhonda!