These birthday posts are so hard for me to write. And not just these 10th birthday ones. All of them.
I spend most of the time crying, unable to grasp exactly what it is about this moment that is breaking my heart.
Of course I want my Dudes to grow up happy and healthy and enjoying every year they get to celebrate another birthday.
The tears are joyful ones, mixed with intense sadness at the fact that I can’t wrap them in my arms and jam them in my Baby Bjorn so that I may take them with me, safe and sound, wherever I go.
I want them to be independent and strong. I want them to have full lives with a plethora of experiences. I want them to leave my nest and spread their wings and live greatly.
But also, I want them to shrink teeny and crawl back into my womb into my arms each night. I want to hold their hands as we cross the street. And put them on my hip while I’m cooking. I want to go into their rooms while they sleep and smell their hair without gagging because YOU DIDN’T SHOWER AFTER FOOTBALL PRACTICE? WHO DOES THAT?!
Instead, I have photos…
Okay, not that one. Birth is HARD on your face.
To help me remember the lovely moments and suppress the ones I started this blog because of.
I guess this is what people mean when they say bittersweet.
So, as I sit here, puffy eyed and snotty nosed, I wish my sweet, opinionated, brave, smart, athletic, handsome middle baby boy a happy, happy, happy-but-not-too-happy-that-you-forget-about-devoted-loving-super-smart-mama birthday.