Believe it or not, today is the Puddinpop’s 9th birthday. Nine. One less than 10. Which means that this time next year, he’ll be in double digits and I’ll have been a parent for a decade.
I’ve haven’t held the same job, driven the same car, or lived in the same house for 10 consecutive years.
Seriously, though, it’s very hard to reconcile that nine entire years have slipped by since the day the Puddinette and I welcomed our first little wrinkled, mewling bundle of pinkishness into the cold, hard world. We never could have imagined how much our lives would be changed, almost instantly, when our impatient little man popped his warm, watery cocoon, taking it upon himself to decide he was ready.
Quite the forecaster of things to come, by the way.
At any rate, can I get you all to join me in wishing the Puddinpop a happy sports-and-Pokemon-filled birthday? Yeah? Great. So…on three: 1…2….3
Happy Birthday, Puddinpop!
Now, could I get you to maybe slow down on the growing up a bit?
And stop throwing balls in the house.