Today our son turns nine. The last year of single digits. The big 9. So that makes me at least...um...25-ish? I stopped counting anyway.
So, yes, nine years ago we took our little bundle of joy home and immediately forgot what it is like to get a good night's sleep. Sure, it was totally worth it. I mean, there are better things to do than sleep. You know, like picking up toys, spending the early morning hours in the ER waiting for someone to just give you a prescription, and maybe some ear plugs, calling doctors at insane hours to ask them stupid questions, waking up and thinking your kid is calling out to you and going in there to find out they are stuffed up and their breathing sounds like them calling through the baby monitor. (Yes, that really happened.) I figure in nine years I've been shorted about 8 years of sleep. All I know is that when the kids are gone to college I'm spending two weeks in bed. (Sleeping! Get your minds out of the gutter!)
Obviously I'm joking (mostly) and wouldn't change a thing. Well, except for that time when he found some dog puke and decided to taste test it. That was a gross thing I could have done without.
Anyway, Happy Birthday, buddy! Enjoy this year, it all goes downhill at 10.