You turn fifteen today. FIFTEEN. My brain cannot adequately process this. My firstborn, my favorite boy is fifteen. Almost driving age. Yet, I remember so clearly curling up in the recliner with you and watching the Christmas tree lights when you weren’t even a week old. I remember how you smelled so good. I remember how I was terrified that I wouldn’t ever get the hang of being your mom.
I remember the time Sarah de-pants’d you, and you stepped out of the pants and said, “TA DA!” I knew then that you, my boy, my dearest boy, were going to be quite a character. I remember how you’d stand on my bed and shake your groove thang to John Denver’s “Thank God I’m a Country Boy.” I remember how you used to tell knock-knock jokes that made no sense. I remember how you’d tell a joke 490375 times and still find it hilarious every. damn. time. Oh, wait. You still do that. Heh.
I love you, my boy. Fifteen years ago today, I understood that my heart would never be mine again, and I was glad of it. Fifteen years ago, I got one of the best and most precious gifts ever given to me. I’m still thankful for you every day. Yeah, even on the days when you forgot deodorant.
Happy birthday, Matt.
Love always,
Momm-ay
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