He’ll probably kill me for this, but I like acknowledging birthdays, and if his birthday isn’t all about me, I don’t know what is.
His present didn’t arrive in time (read: I didn’t order it in time), but I’m currently letting him sleep in and considering other generous and heartfelt expressions of love, such as loading the dishwasher, making him a piece of toast, and maybe not yelling so much. But hey, he’s the one who doesn’t like birthdays, so I don’t want to get carried away.
Happy birthday, my love. I’m glad you were born.
Also, happy Father’s Day where applicable, and big fake internet hugs to those who are missing someone today. (My own dad is frightened and confused by the internet, so I’ll give him a call later.)
ETA: Just talked to my dad, who said, “You know, I was proud of you, until I saw a 3-year-old on TV this morning who can run a whole pool table. Cute as hell, just a little wee thing, had to stand on a box, but boy, can he shoot. I was a bit disappointed he didn’t smoke a cigar. Anyway, I thought you were a pretty great kid until I saw that.” LOVE YOU TOO, DAD.