The day started like any other Thursday: an early morning run before the sun woke up.

But today was different.

11 years ago, on a Thursday no less, a baby was born into the world. The baby who made me a mom.

So before heading home, I stopped at the donut shop and picked up our family’s favorite: creme filled eclairs. Today, we celebrate.

Excitement was buzzing in the air. My younger son was literally cock-a-doodle-do-ing with anticipation for the day. Is he awake yet? The birthday boy? Can the celebration begin?

From the moment he woke up, we called attention to him. Today is your day; we’re so glad you exist and you’re ours.

But the birthday boy savored his last hours as a ten year old. He didn’t rush past them. He didn’t hurry onto his next year.

“I’m not 11 yet mom. Not until this afternoon.”

We could all use a lesson in slowing down.

He got off the bus with a smile on his face and a countdown in his heart. “52 minutes until I’m 11!”

We set a timer. I told him stories of that day, the waiting, the anticipation, the excitement.

The moment was here. 4:52! Happy Birthday son!

We sang songs, we danced, we read the text messages and watched the Marco Polos that had come in that day.

I looked into the face that made me a mom.

Deep brown eyes. Freckled cheeks. Angular chin. Wide smile.

Tonight at his 5th grade music program, they handed out a sheet of important dates for the rest of the year.

The last one on the page stopped me.

May 21st: 5th grade walk the halls and graduation.

I felt tears rise before I even understood why — the sudden weight of time moving so fast.

I remember being a 6th grader, walking the halls of my elementary school. And here he is. It’s his turn.

How did we get here?

When the day was over, he asked the question that pulls on my heart these days:

“Mom, will you tuck me in?”

Always, dear one. As long as you’ll let me.

He went to bed tonight with a smile on his face, knowing he is fully loved.

I’m so lucky I get to be your mom.