This past week has been a momentous one. Denver turned 18, and got his driver’s license. I am so proud of the man he’s become, but before I extol on the virtues of the man he’s become…I wanted to bring back this oldie but goodie birthday post of the past, nice and loaded with pictures of the younger Denver..because what would a birthday be without a little look back to the past?
Time sometimes flies like a bird, sometimes crawls like a snail; but man is happiest when he does not even notice whether it passes swiftly or slowly.
Eighteen years ago as I was in labor, I still thought he was a girl. The ultrasound said girl. Everyone said girl.
My dreams said boy.
My morning walk to induce labor I stopped not at the girls clothes rack, but at the tiny little suits, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the teensy little ties.
After three false labors I was forced to sit in the hotel room my Mom had reserved until I “Finally” stopped screwing around and gave birth already. (For the record, Denver was only 1.5 hours “early” for his due date.) When my contractions were finally 3 minutes apart, my mom called my OB, who then demanded to know why we waited. She, in her dry and sarcastic glory informed him that she wasn’t about to take me in if I wasn’t going to actually have the baby.
But he was perfect.
The gorgeous blue of his eyes made me fall in love in an instant.
Everything on time. Every milestone reached at JUST the right moment. Every clothing size changing right at it’s declared time (0-3 months? Gone at three months. 3-6? Gone at six…it was eerie).
He was happy. Smart. Playful. Loving.
He was my world.
He was my mom and dad’s world.
The first born grandchild. The first born great-grandchild.
Not always in the best, most fair ways for him.
It never made him less loved.
In many ways, being the parent of a teen is infinitely harder than raising the young ones. He isn’t satisfied with easy answers. He sees the world around him in such a different light. He sees things that a younger child wouldn’t. He understands and absorbs everything. Things that I sometimes haven’t the slightest idea how to explain to him, to clarify.
In his heart – he is a good kid, nay, he’s an excellent adult. He is smart. He is loving.
He is annoyed with his parents. Embarrassed that his mother has a tattoo and plans more. He hates failure. He strives to do his best and no one is harder on him when he fails than himself. Interested in photography. Science. Math. Writing. Cross Country.
He achieves big things. Advancements in Boy Scouts, Junior Honor Society.
He struggles to fit in.
He is 18.
In so many ways.
He is my baby.
In so many ways – he always will be.
Happy birthday to my oldest, my first born.
18 is a big number. But you’re just getting started.