I found a picture of you.
You were maybe four or five years old, I'm not sure. You're holding a water gun in your hands, and the look on your face is so serious. I wonder what you're thinking about? Your mouth is open, just a little. What were you about to say, buddy?
The sun is shining on your soaking wet hair - I'm not sure if it's wet from sweat or the water gun battle - or both! I see your little-boy-dirty-streaked face, with your eyes shining. I remember that brown and blue shirt that you're wearing - how many times did I wash that thing?
I can even recall the smell of that little boy, with his ever-present wiggling, moving, noise, and sweetness.
I remember that day - it was warm, the sun was shining on us, out in the backyard. I look at that picture and it was only a handful of years ago, but so long ago, really.
You turned 11 a few days ago. Eleven, my little boy with the bluest eyes.
I'm so proud of you! You make me happy, and I have been incredibly blessed to be your Mom.
Happy Birthday, my sweetest boy. I love you.