I wish I had a dime for every time someone asked me how old Wes is. I was always the tallest kid in elementary school and I hated it. I hope it is easier for a boy. With me at 5'8" and his daddy at 6'5" he doesn't stand a chance at being average height. As a matter of fact our pediatrician predicted he may pass his dad, oh my! He already wears a size 9 men's shoe, his dad wears a 15, no that wasn't a typo, 15! When we walked into his basketball tourney last week the people taking money asked how old he was and then exclaimed "we are in trouble!" I feel bad for him sometimes because being so big puts such huge expectations on his young shoulders. He's still only 9 (for one more week, yes prepare yourself for a sappy, birthday post). He's gangly and for lack of a better term heavy. His dad assures us that when he was Wesley's age he was the same way. John says he woke up one day and (thanks to the awful onset of puberty) had coordination and his athletic ability exploded. I so hope that for Wes. I see him being frustrated because he's slower then the little guys, he just doesn't understand. I wish he could see how perfect and adorable he is. But it does stop me in my tracks when I realize we wear the same shoe size and when we hug his head brushes my nose, after all, he's only 9 (for one more week)!
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