Today is my son’s 9th birthday, and I am trying really hard to feel celebratory about that. But quite frankly I am failing miserably.

I knew this was coming. I’d like to believe I was never someone who is naive enough to not know what my child’s life would look like as he grew older. I’ve blogged about it before, I was not unaware. But it’s like they say – you’ll never really know what you’ll think or feel or do until you’re faced with actual situations.

My son turns 9 today. He’s getting tall. His feet are nearly the same size as mine and I don’t have small feet. When he came home he was so small, much smaller than he should have been, and we rejoiced in him “gaining ground” and finding his way from not even registering on the charts to being in the 90+ percentiles. Now I find myself wishing he never found his way there and had stayed tiny and looking way younger than his years.

My son turns 9 today and he still has what sounds to me like a child’s voice. But I’m starting to wonder if others hear it the same way. He still has this giggle – oh my god it’s infectious. All squeaky and uncontrolled, it’s the sound of pure and uncomplicated joy. Can you even hear it?

My son turns 9 today. I’ve been having horrible dreams for weeks, and I’ve had no restful sleep for two days. I’m exhausted and distraught and lost. But he’s going to wake up in about 12 minutes and it’s his birthday.

His last year in single digits. Until this moment I never appreciated how protective that felt. Two digits = everything has changed from here on out. He’ll never be a baby again. He’ll never be safe again.

Just 4 more minutes until his alarm goes off. He’s so excited to be 9. He can’t wait for today to start.

I wish I felt the same way. I wish for the day I can feel the same way. But I think those days are in my rearview mirror.