An article was floating around the internet last week about how it hurts to grow up.
I totally get that.
Birthdays hurt. I know they shouldn’t, but to me, they do. I’m not a fan of growing old. I’m scared of growing old–a fear I know is irrational and weird and sentimental all rolled into one big, messy emotion–but I have never been able to shake it.
Ten years ago today, Jack entered our lives.
Jack sleeping on Popster the morning after he came home from the hospital.
Jack meeting Mama B.
Mama B. meeting Jack.
I can still hear her voice sweetly saying to him, “well, hello there!”.
Jack’s Baptism Day
He wore the same gown I wore at my baptism.
The day I found out we were expecting Jack, Russ brought home a tiny teddy bear. He became Measuring Bear–the static item we took a photo of Jack with on the 19th of each month. Measuring Bear sits on a shelf in Jack’s room now, wedged between game balls and stacks of books.
Jack and Measuring Bear
Before Dog, there was Car Bunny.
Hilton Head, June 2005.
Jack’s dinner this night consisted of a bowl of salsa which he ate all by himself with spoon.
Then Jack’s allegiance fell to Dog. And he’s not looked back since.
I bet he and I have read a million pages together. (I can still recite Moo, Baa, La La La by heart.)
We rocked his little world when we brought home a new brother.
But this trio is now inseparable.
We’ve been through the pirate phase, the train phase, and the Franklin phase. We’ve been through Gymboree, swimming lessons, and NYO. We started with fingerpaint; now he’s a master at Minecraft. He once communicated via sign language and now talking to him is like talking to an adult (most of the time). It’s breathtaking how much he has grown and changed since the day I first held him.
But he started off wonderful and still is wonderful. More than wonderful, actually.
paging Dr. Jack
on his very first baseball team
The nineteenth of May sends me into a whirlwind each year.
That went by way too fast.
But every single day of it has been absolutely wonderful.
Here’s to the next decade, Jackers.
Happy, happy birthday to you, my son.