You are 10.
I have to say, that that was a decade that simply flew by. One minute you were a tiny, blonde newborn napping in the bassinet by the window to help clear up jaundice, and then I blinked and you were a curly-haired two year old who was running after his sister and brother trying to keep up with everything they did. When I blinked again you were five, missing your front teeth and just starting to sprout freckles across your face.
Then suddenly you were eight and full of both freckles and grownup teeth.
And now. Now you are ten.
Now you swagger around the neighborhood with your buddies. You tell tales of video game prowess, pro-wrestling scandals, spectacular skateboard crashes, and awesome bicycle races. You are a whirlwind.
You are always looking for the next thing to do, finding the next person to "hang with." You are a bike riding, Heely wearing, WWE loving, joke telling, baseball playing dude. Emphasis on the dude.
Except when you are not. Which is basically when you are sleeping. And somehow, you have adopted the sleep habits of your teen aged siblings ahead of puberty--staying up too late and sleeping in until it's almost no longer morning--worrying me about what will happen when you are actually a teenager.
You come downstairs in the morning, your curly hair flattened in spots by your pillow, with a blanket draped around your shoulders and you head right for me, to sit on my lap or give me a hug. You will never know how much I love this. I simply adore that you don't feel too big for my lap, too old to hug. I know this won't last. I know one day you won't try to sit on my lap. I know one day you will shrug off my hugs in embarrassment or haste. I am sucking every bit out of this time that I can, stock-piling hugs for the future.
You are starting to care more about what you wear, how you look. You have definite ideas about the clothes you like. Which is all the more puzzling since we have to threaten you to shower and we have to smell your breath to make sure you have actually brushed your teeth. (This is one of the parts of parenting that nobody speaks of, because frankly, if you tell a new parent that one day they will be smelling the morning-foul breath of their sweet little offspring to check for dental hygiene, they will never believe you.) I remember your brother passed through this phase and came out on the other side, so I'm guessing there is hope that one day you won't think of tools of cleanliness as your enemy.
I love your sense of humor. You make me laugh. A lot. And very often, you make me laugh when I shouldn't. You have an uncanny way of making me stop in the middle of an angry speech and start giggling. I have decided that this is for the best and that I'm just going to go with it. I spend enough time making angry speeches. Giggling is good. Especially with you, because you have one of the best giggles I've ever heard. It's one of my life's joys to make you laugh.
I know that the next decade will likely fly by as quickly as the last. I know that I'm likely to blink and you will go from a little boy that looks up to me, to a young man that I will look up to. I know that soon enough your birthdays will be spent away from me.
But until then, I intend to savor each year, each moment with you, my dude. Happy 10th birthday, Seannie Buck!
I love you,
P.S. You are my favorite Sean.