Yesterday was the day that I was born, and I’m thankful for all the well-wishes I’ve received from you all: family, friends and all. But, I have to say… Since my son was born and I became a father, my birthday has taken a whole new meaning and dimension.
First and foremost, of course, the day is not my own. My son informed me several years ago, that is was HIS birthday, since every birthday in the family (naturally) became his special day of celebration. That meant (and means), of course, that gifts should be purchased for him (as he reasoned it). I wasn’t sure what to think about my son’s reasoning when he first introduced the idea, but I think I’m finally starting to accept the idea.
Not that I want him to grow older, or that I really need a day when my little one is expecting me to buy him more gifts. But, my birthday celebrations changed the year I was holding my son in my arms for the first time. Yes, there are all the realities of experiencing another birthday:
- I can feel every year, as it weighs upon my bones.
- There are all the goals I have (what I want to still accomplish)
- I’ve survived another year… it’s a gift
But, more than that… I watch my son as he takes over my birthday–asks for his favorite cake, and requests guests for the day (all his friends, minus the parents). I realize that time is flying by.
So, for my NOT BIRTHDAY, I just had one wish: I wish these moments would last longer.
I’d give you anything in the world, if I could, my son… I love you to the moon and back… and round and round.