Happy 11th Birthday, Gunnar!

You know what's crazy? What seems just surreal to me? That I have an eleven year old son. An ELEVEN year old. I know its cliche, but it really does seem like just yesterday I was an 18 year old punk, bringing this tiny little bean home from the hospital. 18 years old. That's only seven years older than he is now. (Six years from the age when I actually got pregnant, YIKES.)

Gunnar was our little miracle, so sweet and precious, so happy and content, wise beyond his years and smarter than a whip, serious and shy sometimes, exuberant and cheeky the next. How quickly we all adapted to having this wonderful little being in our lives, how quickly he had us wrapped around his chubby little finger.

Hubs and I were given this little boy when we were just kids ourselves, and yet seeing and experiencing life through his eyes, through him, opened us up to what life could be like, as a family. We three grew up together, in a way.

And now my little guy is eleven, not so little anymore. In fact, I've only got a couple inches on him now and we can wear the same shoes (a fact he detests because I keep stealing his flip-flops, haha). And it hits me sometimes, when did this happen? How did he go from being so small and precious to this big kid?

I've been through all the baby stages with him, the toddler years, preschool, elementary. All those first times, first experiences, imprinted forever in my tender, motherly eyes. And now it is on to a new stage -- that of first crushes, first outings with friends (no parents! co-ed! ack!), probably first kisses (not that he'd ever admit to it), peer pressure, more challenging school subjects, more responsibilities and expectations. My boy is only two years away from teenagehood, for crap sakes. I think I'm having a pre-mid-life crisis here, people!!

Now, instead of wanting a new action figure for his birthday, he wants a cell phone. Instead of inviting friends over for a sleepover, he's going out to the movies with a group of kids (girls included, oh mercy). Instead of cartoons, he wants to watch horror movies and music videos. His music tastes are pretty much the same, because he grew up listening to his dad's heavy metal, punk, and rock and my eclectic love for 60s/70s classic rock, 80s pop and 90s grunge; however, he's got his generation's love for hiphop as well.

My kid is growing up into this amazing, well-rounded little individual with his own opinions, likes and dislikes. I'm kind of in awe of him, like, I helped create this person, he's a part of me and yet, he is SO his own person. Wow.