My father says I spoil him.

He’s mostly joking (I think) and loves to give me a hard time about the way I dote on my youngest son.

My youngest son.

Who turned 9 years old today.

 

My baby (though I would never call him that in front of his fellow manly 9 year old friends) will always be my baby to me.

 

I guess if you think I’m spoiling him by telling him everyday how proud I am to be his mother,

how lucky the world is to have him in it

how certain I am that he will go on to do many a great things

with his giant heart

and enormous brain

and

letting him know as often as possible

how he outshines the sun when he stands up for his special needs brother

how I love the way parents call me to tell me how much they love having him over because “he’s such a good influence”

how handsome he looks in his baseball uniform

and

how he makes my heart smile every day just by being himself

 

Well,

then yeah.

He’s spoiled rotten.

 

And as long as he keeps growing into the young man I know he will one day become,

I intend to keep it that way.

 

Happy Birthday Ian.

I love the crap out of you, kid.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

I wrote an article in honor of Ian for his birthday, for my weekly special needs column.

Well go on; read it!