I see your book light on well past bedtime, crayons stashed under your pillow and papers piled high with your stories and drawings.
I have a feeling it won't be the first time you're the first at things.
The challenge I face as you are now long grown out of early morning wakings, when my presence was a matter of your survival, a demand upon me which I had no choice but to answer, is to remain as present for you as I was when I held you tight in my arms.
It was easy then, when we slept together in the rocking chair and I couldn't let go of you because you'd fall. But now I am learning how to parent without being able to grasp you as easily in my arms.
But at least now you can hold me too.
Happy 8th Birthday, Quinlan.