Daddy, turn off the sun . . .

I'm reeling a little this week. My first child turned 10. That is a 1 and a 0. That is double digits. That is a decade. That is a pre-teen.

I swore it wouldn't happen, I promised I wouldn't let it, I took steps along the way to prevent it, but it did. I blinked. I can honestly say that when they laid that baby on my stomach and I looked down it was the first time in my life I saw the fingerprints of God. He was a huge baby, he didn't want to come out. He was a week over-due before he made his easy, gleeful journey to the world. We still laugh and say the inside of my uterus says "Wes was here 1999". He was a little pioneer in the adventure that we call parenthood. He survived the first fumbling baths (too hot,too cold?). The creamed spinach baby food (I gagged when I fed it to him). He survived the Hamburger Helper years (ironically that is what he asked for for his birthday meal). He survived always matching, never getting dirty, and a mother who screeched at every teeter and every gonk to his noggin.

God blessed me with easy babies. Wesley never complained about anything, except once when the sun was shining in his eyes as we drove. He yelled "Daddy, turn off the sun!". He may have been 3 at that time. Around that same time when he had asked me 1000 question in about a 5 minute span and I had answered "I don't know" too many times for his liking, he said to me, "Mommy you need to find out a lot more stuff, 'cause there's a lot I want to know!" We'll I've sure learned a lot more stuff. I've learned patience, understanding, unbelievable frustration (we've all locked ourselves in the bathroom to escape for 5 minutes, right?). Mostly, I've learned what true, unconditional, soul-searing, love is. He was the beginning, our beginning, my beginning.

Is he really a 3rd grader?

I wish I had a dime for every time someone asked me how old Wes is. I was always the tallest kid in elementary school and I hated it. I hope it is easier for a boy. With me at 5'8" and his daddy at 6'5" he doesn't stand a chance at being average height. As a matter of fact our pediatrician predicted he may pass his dad, oh my! He already wears a size 9 men's shoe, his dad wears a 15, no that wasn't a typo, 15! When we walked into his basketball tourney last week the people taking money asked how old he was and then exclaimed "we are in trouble!" I feel bad for him sometimes because being so big puts such huge expectations on his young shoulders. He's still only 9 (for one more week, yes prepare yourself for a sappy, birthday post). He's gangly and for lack of a better term heavy. His dad assures us that when he was Wesley's age he was the same way. John says he woke up one day and (thanks to the awful onset of puberty) had coordination and his athletic ability exploded. I so hope that for Wes. I see him being frustrated because he's slower then the little guys, he just doesn't understand. I wish he could see how perfect and adorable he is. But it does stop me in my tracks when I realize we wear the same shoe size and when we hug his head brushes my nose, after all, he's only 9 (for one more week)!

Girlfriends . .

Oh to have a core group of friends. We have now lived here 10 years, wow can you believe it? It took me a long time to meet people and really feel a part of things. Thanks to Lee Ann, mostly, I really feel like that has finally happened. I feel so blessed to be a part of a group of moms who share my values, my love for life and family, and my twisted sense of humor. I love you guys and thank you for weaving me into the fabric of your lives!