My fourth child turned six yesterday.

Six.

Six?

Oh my.

My manly man and I {jokingly} refer to him as our post-deployment baby. *snort, slobber, riotous laughter, snort* {If you’re military, then chances are you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.}

Mom. Dad. Stop reading now. This post might fall under the heading, “TMI” . . .

Back in 2003, my manly man was deployed over in the sandbox for a while. Here he is in his uniform. Hubba-hubba. Minus that hairy caterpillar above his lip, of course.

I feel now would be a good time to mention {again} how much I miss seeing him in his flight suit, since he retired. There’s just something about my man in a uniform.

Ok. Stopping now.

He came home about a week before Thanksgiving.

The week before Christmas, I found out I was pregnant.

Those of you with more than the average 2.5 children can probably relate to the following:

“Who wants to call Grandma and tell her we’re pregnant? Again. Anyone? Anyone? Someone?”

Silence. No eye contact.

“Okay, then. I guess it’ll be me.”

Nine months later, we welcomed Lil’ Dub into the world.

He lights up my world with his smile. He melts my heart with his hugs.

* I’ll be in my closet eating chocolate and staring at the skinny picture of me. Just in case you were wondering about my plans for the afternoon.