Today is my son's birthday. I paused briefly at his bedroom door this morning as I prepared to leave for work. He's eighteen years old today, an adult. Sometime in the past year he grew taller than me - I'm still adjusting to that. As I watched him peacefully sleeping, I saw a young man about to embark on the next stage of his life. But I also saw a little boy, the one who loved dinosaur pajamas and warrior cat stories. He's in there somewhere, providing a part of the foundation that my son's life is built upon. And though my son may not realize it, eighteen is still so very young. He may feel like he's all grown up but the next few years will likely see him grow and change in ways neither of us can imagine. I'm excited for him and, if I'm honest, just a little bit terrified. No different than the past eighteen years, really.
Happy birthday, sweet boy.
