Happy Birthday My First Born!
Can you believe that I forgot son's birthday this morning? My wise little prince. The one who has inherited my husband's high IQ. My boy. My only son, I can count on to tell me he loves me no less than 25 times per day. My touchy-feeling child with sensory issues, the one who will curl up on my lap, at least once a day, usually when I have sat down for the first time all day. The whiz kid who figured out how to solve the Rubik's Cube in less than a minute now. The one with the scar on his nose, from the constant tripping over his toes he had when he was around two years old.
How could I possibly forget my first born's birthday? I remember the night my water broke vividly. He was a tiny baby who took hours and hours and hours to make an appearance and finally had to be born via C-Sect. He was peaceful and quiet the first night I brought his home, I was scared because he slept for six hours, so I woke him up. I think from that moment, I ruined his sleeping routine for life.
I knew it was his birthday. I never truly forget. I was simply distracted. In the usual hustle and bustle of the morning routines . . . I was this way and that way . . . . upstairs and in the basement . . . pulling boots on and getting coats sleeves turned right side out . . . getting the SUV warmed up so the children and I wouldn't freeze the first 15 minutes of driving to co-op . . . my son was in a ridiculously good mood (very unusual for his grouchy morning self) . . . all full of smiles.
While driving to co-op my son asked me do you know what today is momma . . . as I looked over my shoulder it dawned on me that I had forgot to tell my first born child "Happy Birthday". What an epic failure as a mother. But he was just so happy that I was finally telling him, he didn't even mind. His morning ride was filled with birthday wishes and songs from his sisters and myself.
When we arrived home the phone was ringing for him for more birthday wishes and he was overjoyed.
The entire day he kept telling me . . . 'you can't punish me, it's my special day' 'You can't take my Rubik's Cube from me, it's my birthday' . . . and on and on . . . it was quite amusing.
Tonight after dinner, dear decade old son was opening his presents and declared this birthday to be the very best ever.
Happy Birthday Baby Boy!
I certainly hope he feels this way at each decade of his life!
This post is sponsored by American Cancer Society