The End of Single Digits

Blink.

It's MH's birthday again.

Blink.

He's 9 now. I think everything I wrote about him on his birthday last year still rings true but the subtle changes in him are so deep and amazing.

He was a rock for me when the shit it the fan with The Man. The lovely boy hugged me and told me everything would be ok. He got angry for me, he took care of his brother and sisters. He made me coffee and put away his laundry. And when The Man and I reconciled, he was the first one to hug his father, nearly squeezing the life out of him.

MH makes us breakfast in bed, gets all giddy when he hears Shakira, the most beautiful woman in the world according to him, sing. He reads, he draws, he contemplates, he hates wiggling his loose teeth. He got his hernia fixed and thinks that general anesthetic isn't all that bad after all.

He sees his life ahead of him now in all it's full and rich colours.. He wants to be an Airbus 380 pilot and keeps asking me if I'll be proud of him when he's flying me around the globe. He sings all the time and I mean ALL THE TIME. It's just a shame he got my tonality.

He fights like hell with The Princess and orders Bubba around the house like Napoleon did to his troops. He chases Rosie away from his Lego and refuses to help us with the wood anymore. He's more determined, more confident, more him. I thought I was amazed at him when he was born, who could have explained to me then how amazed I'd be each and every day since.

Thank you, MH, for these wonderful 9 years with you. And yes, I'd trust you to fly me anywhere.