Today he turns ten.
A whole decade old. Still a boy but almost too tall to fit under my chin when I hug him nonetheless.
There have been scary sightings of the teenager within already. And the man. Sometimes he comes out with sage words that make me stop and look at him, mentally asking “who are you?”
He is a voracious reader. He has the enviable skill of “keeping” his books to read at bedtime whereas when I was his age I would hole up somewhere and get stuck in until I read the last word.
This morning he came into our room at 6.10 with a big grin on his face. He got in beside me and we watched the clock, waiting for his birth time – 6.20.
Then began the countdown to his birthday party this afternoon. He wasn’t able. (Neither was I!)
|The final countdown!|
I took the opportunity to ask this man child, what are the three best things about turning ten.
“You’ve been alive for ten years which is a bit of a milestone. Kind of like whoo hoo!” Can’t argue with that I suppose.
“You’re almost a teenager. I don’t know why but I just want to be a teenager. I think it’s cool.” Will I tell him?
“You know more people. When you get older you do more things and get to meet new people.” My favourite reason.
And finally I asked would he recommend being 10? "Yes! I’d give it ten out of ten!"
Happy birthday, Conor. Ten years on this earth and you teach me something new every day.