Our son, our "S.U.N." (as we call him), is turning 18 today.
Eighteen years old.
An adult, if you will.
Eighteen years ago, at the end of a spectacularly difficult 36 hours of effort, he was born, via emergency caesarian section - one of the most perfectly beautiful babies I've ever seen.
He is still one of the most beautiful people I've ever seen, inside and out.
If you are a mother, you know that your child's birthday is also your "birth" day. If you have been pregnant, or laboured and given birth, you know that experience intimately. There is nothing else like it. So while the focus is on our child, no matter how old he is, we moms are often back in our memory to that first day of our child's life in the outside world. It is a sentimental day, deeply emotional.
I was sorry that David's birthday fell outside of his Thanksgiving break, but since we'll see him soon & planned to celebrate with him next week, I accepted it, and sent his cards and a care package to him at college.
He asked for a ski pass for his birthday, so that he could ski during the winter semester, and we gave it to him. He joined the Gonzaga ski club.
Friday night, Gregg and I were getting ready to go to bed, when the doorbell rang. It was nearly 10 p.m., and people don't normally drop in on us at that hour.
It was David. He surprised us, and drove over the mountains after his last class of the week, to be with us on his birthday.
We were really surprised. It's the best "birth day present" I could receive, other than the original gift of having him for my son.
Yesterday, we took him shopping for a few necessities and the food for his birthday dinner, selected our Christmas tree at the tree farm (to be cut later), went to one of our favorite restaurants for dinner, and saw the new Harry Potter movie. Then we came home, Gregg went to bed, and David and I watched the first episode of "Sherlock" together (he hadn't seen it yet). It was a full, great day.