Eleven

Eleven years ago today (how can it be that long ago?) you entered this world and taught me that anything I thought I would know or expect about having a child was WRONG WRONG WRONG.

My skills were sketchy to begin with - I was never the one in line to hold babies when I was around them.  I didn't baby sit - except for ONE time when the kid wore cloth diapers and I had NO idea how to change them or rather fasten them back together even remotely the right way. As soon as I picked him back up again - off came the diaper.  Probably more than once. I think I just gave up and apologized a lot to the parents.  And then I NEVER did it again.

Despite my reluctance to engage with babies and small humans I always knew I would want to have my own children some day.

Fast forward many years and I got lucky enough to meet a guy who already had a child and KNEW how to change diapers and rock babies and hold bottles. And then you arrived and I will never say those first few months were easy, I struggled so much to adjust to being a mom and feeling comfortable taking care of you on my own.  But you weren't going anywhere and didn't complain too much and your father helped so much in the beginning (well he still helps, I just REALLY needed it then). Eventually I got the hang of it and life settled down and suddenly it's eleven years later and I can't quite wrap my brain around how fast time zooms by.

You're eleven!

I want you to know how loved you are.  I want you to know that you are unique, and smart, and beautiful.  You feel things so deeply and thoughtfully that sometimes it seems like you are much older than you are.  Then you start arguing with me about (insert just about ANY topic here) and I am reminded that yep, you're still a kid.

And you'll always be my baby.

Happy Birthday.