12 is a difficult age. At least it is for me as a parent. I can't really get into celebrating 12. The I-know-more-than-you attitude. The hormonal tumult. The girl-craziness (oh the horror!!!!!). 12 makes me less 'Happy Birthday!' and more 'Happy Birthday?' It's said with that facial expression that is part trepidation, part fear, part humor.
However, I can celebrate this. He's my kid. And he knows it. And he loves it. We get each other and there are fewer and fewer melt downs between us. We have a language together - a non-verbal, conversational secret decoder ring. And he's funny. A bit on the sarcastic side, but funny.
So, here's Happy Birthday to my arrogant but self-deprecating; my cocky but self-conscious; my awesome but explosive man-child. The kid who loved his Lego birthday cake even though the Lego guys were drooping off the back of it. Who told me he wasn't disappointed in waiting a few more days on his present (procrastination, thou art the bane of my existence). Who acted excited about the book I bought him. Man, I love this kid.
No comments:
Post a Comment