I cannot believe you are ten years old today. This morning you told me, “I’m not ten until exactly 7:19.” I felt like Cinderella waiting for the clock to strike 12 with a pit in my stomach watching the oven clock turn from 7:18 to 7:19. You smiled and we celebrated you officially turning ten with serenades of “Happy Birthday.” I watched your grin get bigger, revealing a lot of permanent teeth. Oh how I miss a toothless smile. 

I watched as your eyes got smaller because joy filled you up. Your eyes have always gotten lost when you smile big. I didn’t have to bend down to hug you today, and that stung more than I thought it would.  How did we get here so fast? When did you get so tall? Why does no one prepare you for the rollercoaster that is raising children?? My greatest joys and losses feel the same. 

I am so proud when I see how independent you are, but so saddened at how you need me less and less. I’ve said “hello” to so many new versions of you, but I never can time the “goodbyes” of the old versions of you. The versions I wish I could put on a shelf and take down whenever I wanted. I wish I got to do it all over again; from the beginning. I have loved every second of your existence. I am so thankful God created you, and blessed our lives with you this day. I will always love you an 8020, and you will always be my silver lining.