Today is my son's ninth birthday. It's hard to believe he's 9 -- partially because he's still such a little peanut, 45 pounds and 4 feet tall. If you saw him a store, and he asked you for your keys and proceeded to tell you what kind of car you have, you'd take him maybe for a precocious kindergartner. You'd be shocked to hear he's 9. But 9 he is, and today’s the day.

 

It's also hard to believe he's 9 because I'm a mom, and “Sunrise, Sunset” automatically plays in my head on my children's birthdays, and I remember how we brought him home when he was 21 months old, not walking or talking, thinking the metal piece that went back and forth on top of a swing in his orphanage room was the most fascinating thing in the world. To say he's come a long way is like saying cars have gotten a little fancier since the Model T.

 

Now, I work at the library at my kids' school, and I see what 9-year-olds look and act like, and I know my boy's not there. But when I think about how much he's learned and grown and shown in the past seven years, and what a delightful fellow he is, I gotta tell you, I think he's about the most wonderful 9-year-old there is.

 

Happy birthday to him.