8!

My first born is 8.
He was almost born at my parents house, where we labored for 3 long days.
He and I just took it one contraction at a time.
He put me into a state of postpartum bliss.
He slept on my chest for his first 3 months.
We lived in a crappy neighborhood, but I didn't care as long as we were together.
He didn't talk until 3. But I understood him.
He is peer pressure immune, so far anyway.
He is a little Jack Kerouac, loves girls, loves wearing black.
He is morbid.
He loves Halloween the most.
He loves his brothers.
He prays every night.
He is complex, quiet, climbs fearlessly, loves music, is a great dancer.
He is my precious boy.