My son Jack celebrates his 10th birthday today, which for Terry and me means we no longer have (and never again will have) a child in the single digits. Another birthday, another milestone, another reminder that time waits for no one.
"Even children get older, and I'm getting older, too," is what Stevie Nicks sang in that Fleetwood Mac song. And it's true. On a day that's supposed to be about the child, we parents always find a way to make it about us. At least in our private thoughts we do.
We knew when Jack was born that he marked the end of the line for us. I don't mean that we were going to die or anything, but rather that he was kid #5 and there most certainly (short of us misreading God's plans in this department) wasn't going to be a kid #6.
Actually, there was a part of me that thought he was going to be kid #5 AND kid #6. I had it in my head that Terry was having twins. No particular reason for it, I just thought she was going to surprise us all and pop two kids out of there just to show off how good she had gotten at this childbearing thing.
So when the first ultrasound showed only one little fetus, I was a little surprised and, frankly, a lot relieved. I knew I barely had it within me to walk the floors at night with one more crying baby. But two? I might have died.
Anyway, Jack has been a joy for us since the moment he arrived (apart from those late nights early on, but we survived). He's extremely smart, extremely funny, and if I'm being honest here, extremely weird.
I always say his sister Chloe is the most unique person I know, and that's probably still true. But Jack gives her a run for her money. There are few people in the world like my little guy, which I guess is the way it's supposed to be, right?
So happy birthday to little Jackie, as I still call him. He's allowed to continue growing older as long as he doesn't remind his parents that they're aging right along with him.
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