Oh my. The years seem to be flying past. Eleven! How did that happen? The other day I was cleaning out the basement and opened his box of baby things. There right on top, was the sweater I knit him before he was born. The sweater that almost killed me. That he only wore once before it was too small. (Actually, considering I had only knit one scarf before that sweater, I'm pretty amazed that I acomplished a raglan sleeve cardigan with a ribbed collar in bobble yarn - bobbly yarn! Why!- at all)
It seems like yesterday that he was small enough to wear it. And now he is eleven. I know I say that every year. Each summer I am amazed that my babies are bigger still than they were the last year. Eleven. And then it will be Twelve. And then, well, I don't even want to think of that word that lies after twelve. Teen. Eeks. I am not ready for teen. How, oh how did it happen that yesterday he woke up and was eleven?