And then, given the choice of dates for a required c-section, I was able to pick my son's birthday. There was no choice. It had to be. He is my favorite birthday present ever. I haven't had a "real" birthday celebration of my own since that day ten years ago when our family went from three to four. I haven't needed to. It's not about me at all, it's about him. It's about us.
|This summer's art camp project. Yeah, he's pretty good.|
|Just joined Boys' team gymnastics this year - will start competing in January|
He still sleeps with his stuffed blue bunny, and he demands that I tuck him in at night, even though he stays awake for another half-hour reading juvenile historical fiction, Tolkien and knock-knock joke books. He plays video games as much as we allow but is also just as content to spin around the living room acting out parts of old monster movies. He adores his grandfather; they've gotten so much closer since my mother-in-law's death and have really helped each other through the past year. He is simultaneously intrigued and terrified of things like the giant Humboldt squid, extra-terrestrials, the Yeti and 2012. Not unlike his mother, he prefers to wear a race tee and gym shorts, preferably with no shoes, to "dress" clothes with buttons and zippers and collars.
|On the morning of his 10th birthday|
|On our way to our birthday dinner. Note we're both wearing t-shirts!|
|Sharing our birthday dessert. I get the cobbler, he gets the ice cream!|