Yesterday may have been Friday the 13th, but we didn’t notice around here. It was a very lucky day; J turned 3 yesterday. He reminded us for days, weeks even. He went around singing a cute little ditty of “Happy Birthday to Me,” made cuter only by the fact we could only understand half the words. But he nailed the melody.
At three, he is the sweetest soul I know. Sweet and loving and pure innocence. He adores his big brother, loves animals (we’re going to the zoo tomorrow to celebrate his birthday and he can’t wait), and is just absolute love. This summer he finally got the hang of preschool and we no longer have to drag him into the building. He loved it once he got in there, it was just the leaving part he didn’t much care for. He’ll love school this fall.
J was born on the hottest day of 2004. Miserable hot. I think I had the air down in the 60s, the shades drawn, fans on, and I was still miserably hot. Tom and A had on sweaters and I was sweating. Pregnant in the summer is pure torture. J was anxious to be born; to this day I’m impressed I didn’t throttle the nurse-anesthetist when he said I was too far gone for an epidural. I think the first words out of my mouth after his birth were, “Thank God I never have to do that again.” But he was so worth it, so very worth it.
So yesterday was a lucky day. I am lucky to have such a beautiful, sweet, loving child in my life. I love you, J. Happy Birthday.