Lately, my cherub has taken more of an interest in drawing.  In fact, he’s even played a few rounds of Draw Something for me.  Oddly, my poor, unsuspecting friend had no idea that Robbie had selected the word “mushroom.”  Sure, he’s always liked to scribble, readily agreeing to draw anything you ask him.  Nemo?  Sure.  Nona and Pops?  He’ll even throw in Barkley for good measure.  Of course, you can never tell one straight line from the other.

Until this weekend.  Robbie grabbed the racing form on Derby Day, sat down on the stairs, and said he was going to draw pumpkins.  And then, much to my amazement, he did.

I didn’t know what to do, so I cried.  I cried for the baby he wasn’t anymore.  For the big boy he so desperately wants to be.  And for all the pride I couldn’t contain in my heart.


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