Yes, my champ, you turn 7 and I must say you are on a roll! As cutely shameless as 7-yr olds can get, you called or whatsapped all and sundry to remind that it was your birthday today.
Between last Feb and this, the single biggest change I see in you is that you speak nineteen to the dozen and continue to be that drama king. You roll your eyes in frustration, and still say the darndest things. Like you went about telling the folks in our apartment early morning to pick just one chocolate each!
You have style and tell the barber how and just how much of hair he can chop off your head. You run your fingers through your hair standing in front of the mirror and make sure there is no damage done to your style. Jeans are still your thing! How do you not tire of wearing them?! And you must be the only fella in entire Chennai to sport a tuxedo at 3.00 PM and not sweat. You practically gave your dad and mom a heart attack when you waxed eloquent on how to make a bomb! I hope we don’t get tracked down just because you learnt google/youtube search.
Your business idea of launching a ‘Dog Hotel’ was simply cool. Only until I knew that there was such a game and you were playing it:) But you ARE serious about doing one when you grow up. Special menu cards for the canines, a dog spa, dog rest-rooms, play area, children in attendance – all these sound cool! You have already decided the names for the ten dogs that you are going to pet when you grow up.
When everyone in our apartments was fretting over the flood water and lack of power, you woke up each morning that week asking if Wi-Fi will be restored. And you’d go back to making paper boats of old newspapers and float them in the water till the water tired of your boats and receded as fast as it could! When will I get to talk to you about first-world problems?
But then, those talks can wait. I’d want to read to you some more, cuddle you, strike deals with you, listen to your nightmares that feature all the characters from your commando games, lose arguments with you on why you can’t go to bed with your jeans or commando gears, let you believe that iPads and TV talk to the ‘bad neurons’ and that sports, music, reading and stories talk to the ‘good neurons’, let you still be surprised to find me home when you are back from school and draw you into that glue-ey hug, see you beg, cajole your brother into finishing that game for you even if he hates it, listen to you sulk about how unfair it is to sit through the same grade for one full year, and how unfair it is that you are expected to write in school! Don’t grow up yet my Bond. There is a lot of time! I love you to bits my baby!