A Letter to my Son on His Tenth Birthday

Dear Xavier,

On this day ten years ago, you made your first dramatic entrance. It hasn't been the last, as you are dramatic in everything you do. It's ok, son, you get those genes from me. And while I roll my eyes at you when you try to slide down the banister when I yell, err project, that it's dinnertime, and instead of the graceful landing you imagine you instead land in a pile of knobby limbs, I still laugh inside, knowing that at least part of me was rubbed off on you. Otherwise, seeing that you are a carbon copy of your father, I'd wonder if J's DNA overtook mine completely when you were created.

Your dramatic entrance to this world was preceded by your father puking his guts out all through the night from a virus, during a huge snow storm. You just had to pick the day your father was still green around the gills while I forced him to snow blow the driveway from the nine inches of accumulated snow. On the first day of spring, no less. I would have offered to do it myself, but I was as big as a blue whale, and I kept having to make leaping runs to the bathroom every three minutes to pee. I started having suspicions that my bladder wasn't that overloaded and was smart enough to toss a super plus maxi pad on, just in case. Which helped when my water fully broke as soon as I tossed your father's butt out the door in ten degree weather. Thank you for waiting until he was outside so I didn't have to explain that embarrassing moment.

After waiting for contractions to get stronger (and the driveway to be cleared despite the fact the street plows were nowhere in sight. Seriously folks, severely pregnant women should have first dibs on plowers) we headed over to the local hospital, where I started screaming for drugs before we even made it to the parking lot. Remind me to send your delivery doctor a card this week reminding him that I owe him a bitch slap. Because if you remember me ranting (many times) before, when I was admitted he told me I wasn't far enough along for drugs, and to let him know when the pain got to be almost too much. 40 minutes later when I complied, I was told it was too late. You were in such a rush to arrive that I went from 3 centimeters to PUSH DAMMIT in 40 fucking minutes. Not that I'm complaining. Much. But after ten years having you in my life, I realize that you are always in a rush. It's a part of who you are. You get that from me too. Oops.

Anyways, you were born, and instantly we were in awe and in utter love with you. You turned our lives upside down even when you were totally planned. You, my dear, just rocked. And ten years later, you're still rocking our life. Sometimes a little louder than we appreciate, but we expect that from kids. And our own genetic pools.

The one thing I regret was not having a digital camera when you were a baby. I fixed that before Ashe was born, but it still sucks knowing I need to one day scan the gazillion photos of you when you were little. Cause honey, you were a ham from the moment you took your first breath. Your face would light up whenever I pulled out my camera. Hell, you still light up nowadays.  You were the perfect round squishy baby. You looked EXACTLY like Charlie Brown. I did try looking for a yellow shirt with brown stripes to put you in, but fortunately for you, I couldn't find one. Because I would have totally pulled those photos out when you brought any girlfriend home.

Coming up to present time: I'm totally freaked out you're ten. I know how cliche it sounds to say it seems like only yesterday but really, it feels like only yesterday you were born. At the same time I could never imagine my life without you. I am SO FREAKING PROUD of all that you have accomplished, proud that you are such a strong person, and have been able to deal with all that life has thrown at you and can still laugh every day. I know your ADHD sucks. I know how tough it is for you. I hurt for you that you have to deal with this. But you know what, buddy? You make it look like anyone could handle the extra issues you have to deal with on a daily basis. And I know that's not true. You kick ass.

I know I may not say it enough. I know sometimes I seem like a major hard ass when I'm on your case about homework, or drowning our bathrooms (again) and ruining our ceiling with the water leakage. But I love, you, I'm so proud of you, and Dad and I are always there for you. I hope that we have shown that you CAN come to us with ANYTHING and we will be there to help, not judge.

You make me so happy when you're happy. I am thrilled to see you with your friends, having a grand old time and being a kid. I am loving it when you help your younger brothers out. I love that you help me out when I ask (most of the time). I love seeing you finally doing well and enjoying school. That was one of my biggest hopes for you.

And while I don't love Minecraft, Roblox, or Pokemon, I'm glad you have things you treasure and love. And while I do zone out when you tell me every minute detail about your recent mining expeditions on an online game, it's not because I don't care. I'm loving that you are passionate. Just remember, I hear you the first time. I don't need 42 reminders.

Soon, too soon, you will enter that scary world that is tween. Then teen. Please, please for Bob's sake, PLEASE come to me and talk then. Tell me about the girl you french kissed. Ask me about drugs, safe sex, and school. I'll give you straight up answers, promise to kick your ass if I ever find you huffing air fresheners (for your own good), and do right by you. But I'm always here to talk frank. I never had that as a child and I am hoping that that is a gift you will one day treasure.

I love you. I've always loved you, from the moment of your conception. And I hope that you know down to the marrow of your core, that I will ALWAYS love you more than you can imagine. I love you to the moon and back and then some.

Happy tenth birthday, sweet boy. Now, go eat your cake with blue frosting so you can poop blue and laugh about it.

Love,
Mom