peevish mama

It hardly seems possible. It hardly seems possible that today Saint James turns ten and in a few days I turn ten times four. Always the good boy, he was born just in time to distract me from the (relative) angst of turning 30. It seems incredible that I even batted an eyelash about stepping out of my twenties into my thirties, but I suppose milestones are milestones and you feel what you feel.

Now I have a boy in double digits with long arms and legs, flopped against me on the couch with his book as I type, ready, once again, to soften the brunt of crossing into another decade. We’re having a big party to celebrate Dash and my birthdays because to turn 40 is actually a really good thing. Perhaps the last really good thing, but good nevertheless. But the real celebration, my heart’s celebration, is today, right now, for my boy. He’s requested bacon for breakfast, Chinese food for dinner, new soccer cleats and a couple of African Dwarf Frogs – such small requests when I take into account all he gives to me, day to day, every day: peace, quiet companionship, near constant physical contact, and pure, simple, unfiltered and abundant little boy love. A true blue mama’s boy and friend.

Happy Birthday, Saint James. Happy Birthday to us. May our next decade be as wondrous as this past one, and may it pass as slowly and sweetly as honey poured from a jar. I love you, buddy.