After today, for about one month, I will not be writing on this blog. I will only be posting. That fact makes me think that I should write the blog post of all blog posts today. I should be able to...it's my third child's birthday, after all. And today, Aaron turns 11 years old.
Holy crap, how did that happen? I mean, where in the heck did that time go? (Imagine as I whip my head from side to side, looking for the lost minutes that have essentially evaporated.) As I'm wont to do on my children's birthdays, I think back to all the days that came before...
The very warm Halloween I went into labor (I remember sitting on the front porch, in pain, and yet still handing out candy), the fact that I gave birth to a pale red-headed child (I was convinced he'd have dark hair), and the terror I felt when we had to decide on whether or not to circumcise the male child (we chose not to, but as many of you know, we had to reverse that decision when Aaron was five years old). And those are just the bigger items on my list of remembrances.
What I think about most often when I think about the little man who turns 11 today are his wiry arms, his infectious grin, the freckles that sprinkle across his nose, and the red hair that sticks up after sleeping on it at night. And of course, pi. I can't forget his favorite number now, can I? No one can forget that number because Aaron makes sure you don't.
And in a quiet, unassuming way, Aaron also makes sure that you don't forget him. I don't exactly know why that is. If it's the red hair, or the way he clings to his love of numbers, or his quiet humor, but usually I hear people say, "Oh, Aaron M is your child?" Like they know him, even when I suspect they don't know more than his name and face. I then go on to ask why they've heard of him. Has he been to the principal's office? (Every once in a while, that has happened.) Did he forget his manners? Was he not listening to them? Did he kick a ball into your glass window?
It's not that I try to dwell on the negative when it comes to Aaron, because he houses so many positives. But he's a boy, and as I found out early on in his lifetime, raising a boy was going to be way different than raising a girl. Good. Wonderful even, but different.
I'm so grateful that he came along. I'm thrilled and proud to be his mom, and like I said last year, I'm excited to see what he can do in the coming years. Eleven is just the beginning for him.
(Okay, so it wasn't the blog post of all blog posts, but please, cut me some slack. I'm doing so many things this month, it's quite possible I won't survive them all!)