the kid turns 10

Ten years ago, I had a baby. Dr. B shuffled in with his arms outstretched and his hair sticking up, let a nurse swoop a gown and gloves over his pajamas without breaking his stride, caught the tiny person like a football, and plopped him on my chest. He had tufts of hair on the tips of his ears (the baby, not the doctor), and a headful of dark hair which made my mother crow about her wily recessive genes.

Now a decade has gone by, and my boy is a creature of long legs and derpy laughs and goodness.

He sat beside me when I was upset over the news in Connecticut, and cried when he saw the picture of the principal who's children would have no mother for Christmas. I held his head against my chest and he kissed my belly.

His birthday was perfect, though. He conspired with his grandma for a homemade neapolitan cake with fresh buttercream, old enough now to choose flavor over novelty air-sprayed character cakes.

We watched the Hobbit (odd, I don't remember the parts in the book about frenetic battles on falling scaffolding and evil albino orcs on conveniently also-albino wargs - PETER JACKSON) and then hit D&B's for an evening of screaming neon overstimulation and obsessive gambling for rolls of tickets. 

There were Lego dwarfs, Hot Topic apparel, and headphones - gifts that denoted the new and growing shift from child to pre-adolescent.

Happy birthday, my good-hearted kid.