To think that six years ago today I was four days past my due date, lying on an examining table like a bloated manatee, gloating about how I couldn't even FEEL the contractions. Pain shmane. I am woman, hear me wolf down this 12-inch sub from Jersey Mike's.
Not to beLABOR the point, but it is customary on this anniversary to revisit the moments prior to Patrick's arrival and remember that sacred feeling.
(See also: OW.)
On Saturday, we celebrated Patrick's birthday with the most last minute, low-maintenance, low-budget birthday party we've ever thrown, and It. Was. AWESOME.
But unlike last year, we did away with the ballpark, the bouncehouse, the bungee cords, and the stadium of people singing happy birthday to a boy with his shy little head buried in my shoulder while I signaled Ozzie the mascot to stay out of shooting range.
This year was just baseball in the backyard, with Dad pitching,
BAM. Baseball cake.
Thanks in no small part, Patrick, to having a kid as cool as you.
And happy birthday.