Ten years ago today, in the minutes it will take me to type this, I was travelling in a rusted out red car, on my way to the hospital. I was two weeks past my due date, big as a whale and the world’s crankiest bitch bloated, swollen and stretched, pregnant chick.

I was 21 and even though I had already given birth thirteen months prior to my daughter, I had no idea how my life was about to change.

For the better.

(At least that is what I told myself for the next two years of sleepless nights and blurred days as I chased after two babies only months apart.)

I’ll admit, your conception wasn’t planned. Your sister was only four months old and we were still struggling with breast feeding when I found out about your existence. I’ll admit, I may have hurled the pregnancy test stick, with it’s positive sign mocking me, at your father’s head when he walked through the door from work that night.

I’ll admit, you were a gift I hadn’t planned on receiving. (I mean, who the hell has sex when they have a new born baby? I suppose the fact I had no recollection of conceiving you means nothing as I ultimately had to squeeze you out of my uterus regardless of whether your conception was so absolutely unremarkable that I have no memory of it.) But you were a gift none the less. It didn’t take long for me to adjust my attitude and welcome your existence.

Especially since you were a joyful pregnancy (I only passed out in public once!) and joy-filled baby. (Oh, the joy I felt when you popped your first tooth, clamped down on my nipple, pulled it tight and shook it like you were a dog with a bone. Such bliss.)

You’ve made my life easier in countless ways, as a free and unlimited source of slave labour great helper with the family chores, everything from dish duty to wood gathering.

You’ve kept me fed on more than one occasion. (Yum, peanut butter toast. Thanks, Frac.) You’ve even learned how to brew coffee for your mama thereby ensuring your survival during the early morning hours of war.

You’ve made me smile and laugh through the years. Just know I laugh with you and never at you. (Wink, wink.)

You remind me on a daily basis there is more to life than sadness and suffering, more than grief and anguish. There is music to be enjoyed, comedy to laugh at, and drama to get my blood pumping.

You are growing up to be a strong, resourceful young man. Of course, that may have something to do with the fact you are being raised by a pack of feminine hyenas with very little testosterone to intercede on your behalf. Your father and I (but mostly your father) are sorry for that.

I promise I will work harder at tormenting you with my estrogen loving ways forming you into a macho, manly reincarnation of your daddy. You don’t have far to go, after all. You are a spitting image of him. And from what I hear, he cried a lot on the playground. It shouldn’t be hard to out-macho that.

Happy tenth birthday Frac. May this year be your best yet. You deserve it.

Plus, I need the blog fodder.