My baby is six today. SIX. (Cue the mournful strains of Sunrise, Sunset while I grab a tissue.)
Mr. G is silly--the biggest show-off on Team Testosterone, he hams it up for our attention on a regular basis. Whether doing karate kicks, making funny sounds (he does incredible machine-gun noises) or somersaulting across the yard, Mr. G wants us to watch him--and watch him NOW!
Mr. G is passionate about certain things. In particular, dinosaurs, soda, donuts, Ben 10, Batman, dogs, baseball, Curious George and swimming. He loves to build castles and organize all his action figures and animals around his creations. He enjoys painting and coloring and counting and hearing stories.
Mr. G is our athlete--he's got a sweet swing, a fierce arm, and a fast stride. Watching him move is pure joy. Consequently, he's a tactile kid, always touching, petting, reaching. He's my boy who runs to the playground to play tag with his buddies. No standing around for small talk--Mr. G's ready for action!
Half superhero, Mr. G can often be seen in disguise--leaping over couches, sliding down banisters, racing through yards. His imagination is active whether he's playing with his friends or his brothers or playing alone.
Mr. G is surprisingly sensitive. He's a good brother, a good friend. He asks questions, makes a conscious effort to include other people, and treats everyone fair and square. He doesn't lie, he's takes turns, he shares and he listens. I'm often complemented on how well-behaved he is. He is a bundle of energy, but he uses self-control at school, church, and karate.
Mr. G is our baby. Spoiled and loved. Smart as a whip from observing his brothers. Coddled and endured, depending on his mood. He gets his way most of the time, but sucks it up when he doesn't. He's confident of his place in the pecking order and knows we've all got soft spots on our hearts and room by our sides for him. 
Mr. G--ballplayer, champion snuggler, smart-aleck, beloved 6-year-old boy.
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