A Day in the Life of a 6 Year-Old

It's official. Our baby boy is turning into a little man.

He turned six today, and not only did he make his bed and get dressed right after waking up (the norm), he also set the table for breakfast. Complete with plates, napkins, and silverware for each of us, joined by a trio of cereal boxes in the middle of the table. The crowning touch - which he showed off with a flourish after I stumbled out of bed and discovered this sight - might be the coffee cup he thoughtfully placed next to my place setting. He's wise beyond his years, and I really don't know what I've done to deserve him.

After I blearily filled my coffee cup, I suggested we get the day started by marking his official 6 year-old height on our growth chart. And then wanted to cry. His head, which used to just reach the lion, is now touching the pig's tummy. The pig's tummy! That's 49 inches (96th percentile) for those keeping track at home.

Now turbo-charged and full of 6 year-old excitement about being as tall as the pig, he was consumed with the need to get to school as fast as humanly possible. Who can blame him? He was looking at wearing a birthday crown for the entire school day, being The Helper who gets to fetch the milk cartons from the nurse's office at snack time, and consuming birthday donuts with 19 of his closest friends.

I dropped him off at the school playground 15 minutes early so he could have some extra playtime before the school bell rang, and couldn't keep the silly smile off my face as I watched him run/walk, run/walk to drop his backpack off... one wary eye on the yard monitor, one eye eagerly scanning the playground for his buddies. Even on his birthday, he's a rule follower.

After depositing his bag, he caught sight of his classmate Audrey, who shares his birthday, and the two of them ran toward each other and did the most adorable, spontaneous, giddy happy dance you've ever seen. Then they played a round of tetherball, letting out all their spazzy energy on that yellow ball.

The high didn't wear off all day long. He ate lunch, plowed through the creation of an "all about me" poster that's not due until next week, helped me make his birthday cake, played catch with Daddy, and drew a picture of Santa Claus.

Our 6-going-on-70 year-old requested meatloaf, mashed potatoes and broccoli for his birthday dinner, so I happily dished up some comfort food and watched him gobble up three helpings of mashed potatoes. At this rate, the 6 pounds he lost during The Christmas Flu of 2011 will be sooo last year. (Speaking of pounds, only Joey could lose 6 pounds and still weigh in on his birthday at 57 pounds, in the 93rd percentile.)

He blew out the (trick) candles on his birthday cake with the help of his baby sisters, didn't blink an eye when Clara began to unwrap his presents for him, and spent the last two hours of the night assembling some of his new building toys (he's now officially obsessed with all things Trio, Lego and Erector).

All in all, a heaven-sent day for a heaven-sent boy!