My oldest child is days away from turning five. I'm not typically a sentimental person. And I don't normally have an issue with age - mine or that of my kids. But Cody turning five gets me a little. You see, five is big. Five is a little boy. Five is not a toddler. Five is definitely not a baby. And I don't even really like babies. I had to like my own babies, but would much prefer to birth a child and it immediately be a year old. You know, when it is more than just a little smelly blob. I like it when they have little personalities and can interact with you.

Luckily Cody is combatting my sentimentalness with terrible behavior - making it much easier to forget about how quickly the last five years have gone and how big he is getting. Instead, I have visions of boarding or military school. Do they start those at the kindergarten level? I haven't actually googled it yet. Yet.

He's still a little momma's boy that wants me to do everything for him. I'm trying not to ruin him for a future spouse, but it may already be too late. Currently he's playing with his older toys and hasn't touched any of the toys he got at his birthday party earlier today...that I painstainkly opened and put together. If you have kids then you know that openeing toys is a big chore. Everything is tied or taped down. It took me 15 minutes to get one toy out and that doesn't include loading it with batteries. One
toy's battery compartment has screws so tiny that none of our screwdrivers can get to it. Am I seriously going to have to buy a special screwdriver just to make this toy work? Damn you, Fisher Price!

Soon Cody will be 5 and officially be a little boy. My little boy. And to think just five years, nine months ago I was drinking some green beer followed by some ugly drunk sex.