I have a boy. My first born is a boy. “What is the baby? It’s a boy.” I heard those words when the nurses and doctor gently placed him on my chest for the very first time. I know Everett is a boy. As Everett grew and continues to grow, he was my sweet baby boy who snuggled so close to my heart. My sweet toddler boy learning to talk full of life. He was my little kindergartner boy getting on the bus for the very first time, nervous and ready to start something new. He was my four-year-old who loved anything with wheels (this still hasn’t changed) But something is happening. Something is happening I can’t stop. I can’t freeze time. I knew this was going to happen but I was thinking it would happen later. I think I was a little too optimistic it would happen much later. I was hoping it would happen more like when he was maybe 10 but more like 15. It isn’t him becoming more defiant. It’s not pushing the rules. Something is happening. I can see it. I can see it the way he talks to me. I can see the way he tells me a story. I can see the way he walks across the yard. The way he rides his bike. The way he explores the farm. My Everett is turning into a-boy. A boy who is confident. A boy who is ready to take on the world that is his in the back yard. A boy who is eager to help on the farm but always looking for his bike and BB gun. My Everett is turning into a boy. This is the only way I can describe what is happening. “He is turning into a boy.” My front window has felt Everett turning into a boy. ![IMG_9243[1]](https://raisingafarmer.files.wordpress.com/2016/06/img_92431.jpg?w=630)
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Raising a Farmer 
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