OK, here's the secret: If you want to make me cry, show me a sentimental movie about fatherhood and within twenty seconds I'll have to turn away, claiming I just got something in my eye. The sad part is that I'm not kidding at all--father trauma is my kryptonite. Show me An American Tale, Finding Nemo or Fiddler on the Roof--if a father is torn from and/or reunited with his child, I am guaranteed to choke up. Ian, of course, is to blame for all of this.
Has it been nine years? Seriously? No, really, nine years? Almost a third of my life that I've been responsible for someone with such little feet? The strangest part is that the past nine years are the part that feels like real life, and the preceding two decades are the part that feels like a dream. In some ways, having Ian was when life began, or at least life as we now know it.
The best part about Ian is that the older he gets the better I like him. He was in many ways a difficult baby, and there was a period a few years back that gave us some worry about his future, but in the past couple of years he has only gotten more kind, more loving, more good-natured, more his best self. Happy Birthday, young lad. You make me so glad to be your father.
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Mother's note: Those last two pictures are two different shirts, not just the same shirt worn from kindergarten to third grade. It was just such a good-looking shirt (and such a good price), I bought one to fit then and one to grow into...
Smart mom! I need to remember that and not hope things are still on sale and the same style when the the boys can finally wear them.
Happy Birthday Ian! I remember that not too long ago I was the first family member to see you. My how time flies.
Has it really been nine years? I still remember coming to the baby shower before he was even born. Crazy. Congratulations to all of you to successfully making it so far!
Way to go, Nephew Ian, on being 9 years awesome!
That is NOT how I ate as a kid. Was it really?
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