I've spent the entire day at Canada's Wonderland with the boys and a friend and my SIL who sweetly agreed to help me with the birthday party/day at an amusement park. (Truly a hell trip, but a sacrifice I'll make for him, no problem.)
I'm freakin' exhausted, so tired I can barely type.
So Kaz, how much do I love you? For 11 years I've loved every minute of your life, even when I wondered what the hell I was supposed to do with this tiny precious life in my irresponsible hands.
You are the baby we made all the mistakes with. I now understand why people have more than one kid. It's because the first one is the rough copy we polish over and over again, and the next ones are effortlessly whipped off in one draft. Well heck, hon, I wanted to do it right the first time, but I didn't have the talent or the skill to do it right at the time.
You were my teacher, the hardest taskmaster ever. Your colic? Not your fault, I didn't know the thousand and one tricks to comfort babies during the arsenic hour. By the time you taught me what babies needed, you were on to another stage, and the next baby got the benefit of the lesson.
Everyday that happened, for the next 11 years, and it still is. This is why previous generations had more than one kid, why they had 5 or 6 kids. They knew that no book, no blog, no course of study can teach us the nitty-gritty of how to raise a kid. They help a bit, but only hands-on experience does it well.
So please forgive me my screw-ups. I know I'll make more, but in the meantime, I'm still trying, and still loving every minute of it.