It’s Jasper’s second birthday. I would be celebrating, if I weren’t sniffling fat, maudlin tears into my Cabernet.
I love that he’s getting bigger, that he’s turning into a boy, I do.
But also, I hate it. I hate it because he’s my baby, he’s my last baby,
and I love his baby-ness, and it breaks my heart to lose it, to lose
him.
But still. I keep a tissue at hand, for those stray tears.
(Happy birthday, baby boy.)