Tomorrow, my Logan will turn 9. Nine. Seriously ... I am not ready for this. See, even though he is now floating in the middle of a sea of seven, for a long, long while he was the youngest. My baby. The last of the Mohicans, as we affectionately called him.
And now he's turning 9.
No longer the youngest.
No longer a baby.
No longer anything but a growing boy grabbing life by the horns and riding into the pre-teen years.