Thirteen

Could it really have been thirteen years ago that I woke Ray up and said "I dunno, it might be gas, but let's time them, just in case?"

Could it really be thirteen years since I looked at this squirming white baby and said "Um, what now?"

What now, indeed.

Thirteen is supposed to be awkward, surly and defiant.  So far, you are anything but that.  Something tells me that your old soul, your open heart, your inner smile, all those will conspire against the hormones and you will remain the sunny, happy child that you are.

And there is a river in Egypt called DENIAL.  But a mother can hope.

Many cultures consider this age the beginning of manhood.  And while I know you are anxious for that to happen, if only to make your swimming times improve, I am not in such a rush.  I still see some "Baby Aidan" in the remaining softness of your face, and there is still plenty of Little Boy left in you.

But rather than wallow in the self-pity of losing my baby to manhood, I will do my best to help you meet it head on, with grace, good humor and responsibility.  That's my job and I take it very seriously.

As long as you continue to shower regularly, I believe we can all survive this transition.

Happy birthday, baby boy!