The birthday draws nearer

Just a few days to go till the brat turns eight. Eight.
Pick me up from the floor and hold those smelling salts under my nose
please, and yes, I will pay for the damaged tiling, thank you.
Eight.
Wasn't it just yesterday that he was a mewling parcel of flesh the
nurse deposited in my arms, giving me an anxiety attack about the fact
that this was it. I was now responsible for this person I had created
and that included giving up sleep for pretty much the next two years.
More if you keep in mind that he co-slept with us until very recently,
until a tormented Pappa, absolutely fed up of being shunted to the
very edge of the bed while said spawn of sperm slept in Vitruvian man
fashion occupying 9/10ths of said bed, despatched him to grandmotherly
care through the night given that sleeping in his own bed alone meant
every five minutes would have a rap on our door demanding
investigations of evilz hiding under his bed.
This morning he woke up early, given that his Diwali break had begun
and he could have slept in till whatever time he decided. He rubbed
his eyes, took himself into the bathroom, brushed, bathed and dressed
himself, and presented himself in full spendour. To "go to offis".
His video games held neatly in his hand. I flicked away a tear or two
of realising I was close to drawing my redundancy pay.
He walks on roads by himself, and refuses to have his hand held, which
makes for some heart stopping moments. He goes into stores alone, buys
stuff, gets change and comes back bursting with pride at a sense of
achievement. He no longer brat speaks too. But he does do the
occasional smart quip that makes me swell up chest in maternal pride
at him being a chip off this old block. He is taking a keen interest
in the planning of his party this year, deciding the theme, the guest
list, the return gifts and choosing his cake. He has an opinion on
everything, and no hesitation in stating it. Even if this is
contrarion to what everyone around him is saying.
Me? I'm hunting for some laser beam contraption thingie I can put him
under which will zap him right back to toddlerdom.
Okay. I exaggerate. But you get the drift. The maternal heart is heavy.
And I guess, I'm still better off than the moms of teenagers who are
spoken to only to be asked for car keys and weekly allowance.
So here's the brat. All dressed and dapper. As clicked this morning.
The birthdays. They come too soon.