Today, at 6:21 am, this kid turns ten.
When he was born, he looked like a grapefruit stuck to an orange by a few popsicle sticks. A friction mount, if you will. His eyes were purple and swollen shut, and he was not so good with the breathing.
Today, he looks like he’s built out of bricks (and feels like it), he’s starting to smell faintly of goats (particularly after hockey), and he has NO PROBLEM breathing. Especially when he’s shouty.
Ten years ago, he slept in my laundry basket at the foot of my bed (technically, ten years ago, he slept in an isolette the size of a bread bin, but I’m waxing poetic here. Or something). Today, he can’t fit in that laundry basket unless I smoosh him in and use some lard to help. Not that I’ve tried it, but…you know…hypothetically.
He is smart, funny, and caring. He smiles easily, laughs often, and gets a twinkle in his eye when you talk about farts. Or nards. His favourite books are about Samurai and adventures, but he also appreciates Calvin and Hobbes on many levels. He plays roleplaying games and he creates his own roleplaying games. Watching him skate makes me wish I could do things better.
He’s grown in to a pretty amazing boy. He always was.
Happy Birthday, The Captain!