My youngest child is almost eight years old, which just defies the laws of nature. He's my BABY! A couple of days ago I tried to lift him up for a hug and found that I couldn't...unless he jumped first.
I scooped him up to sit on the kitchen counter for a hug because he's too heavy to hold for a long time. I wrapped both arms around him and tucked his head under my chin, where it still fits perfectly. I rubbed and patted his back as I told him how I used to hold him just like that when he was a baby. I said, "I used to pat your little baby back after you finished eating so I could burp you."
And then the little darling let out a belch to rival any redneck in a biker bar after about six beers and dissolved into hysterical giggles.
I said, while trying not to laugh, "Well, at least it didn't come out the other way."
When I felt his stomach muscles clenching and unclenching against mine I pushed him away and told him lovingly, "If you toot on me, you're dead meat, mister."
More hysterical giggles followed.
I'm so glad we had that tender moment together.