As birthdays go, this one was pretty up there on the enjoyable chart. First, I hardly have to think of a thing: Jameson has plans made well ahead of time, and I just have to text the people he tells me to text, buy the food he asks me to buy, and supply the nerf ammo he asks for — and he makes the party happen. Second, his plans are growing more and more thoughtful, simpler, more fellowship-centered. Third, his friend circle is amazing. He could pick any two from the group of friends he has, and I would marvel at the kindness and happiness and thoughtfulness of their character. It is one of the things that strikes me every year as an incredible blessing in our lives.
And, as birthdays go, this was a pretty big one. I felt a bit raw and emotional that morning, getting food ready for after church and quietly trying to process how we got here already, so soon, too fast. That baby whose arrival signaled the biggest change of my life, the toddler who I doted over and spent every moment with, the six year old whose sparkle and creativity kept me on my toes and made me love him all over again — how could that all be over, gone, already?
But in the early moments of the morning, as these thoughts swirled in my heart and mind, a tall and lanky boy, whose smile has more charm than mischief these days and whose body is growing thick with muscle, came into the kitchen and draped his arm around my neck. “Happy birthday, J,” and he leaned against me for a hug, quietly. We’ve loved each other his whole life, you know. Sometimes I can feel him trying to wrap his mind around all of the emotion, too.
Thirteen. Making grand strides and sometimes epic stumbles toward adulthood, and we are ever so proud and blessed and in awe of this person with whom we share our lives.
(Sorry for the amount of photos. It really was a lovely day.)