My youngest son just had a birthday, and like all mothers everywhere, I am stunned to find that my baby just isn’t one anymore.  It’s been so sudden, his growing up.  The first time around, life with a toddler was hard for me; it was quite an adjustment moving from life-as-a-couple to life-as-a-family.  The second time, I was knee-deep in little kid stuff:  Fisher Price toys were scattered around, tricycles were in the garage, and we still had bibs in the kitchen drawers.  But this time, with my third child, things have been different.  Maybe it’s because he’s been keeping up with two big brothers since the day he could.  Maybe it’s because I’ve already done this twice, so the little things haven’t seemed so big.  Maybe it’s just because he’s a dear boy, who loves to help around the house, roll in the dirt, and build Brio trains all day long.

Whatever the reason, his baby years have flown by and suddenly I am becoming one of those other mothers, the ones unencumbered by diaper bags and small toys, but worried about girls and cars and the unmistakable thrill that comes with trying out new things as you grow up and branch out. 

But today, he is still a fan of Brio trains and if not real cars, certainly race cars.  As such, that was his cake request this year, and here it is:  

Happy birthday, sweet boy.