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birthday magic

Twelve years ago, he was born on national bundt cake day. I remember because in the days after his birth, the two of us spent many hours on the living room couch watching Martha Stewart while he nursed and I drank endless cups of Ocean Spray cranberry juices, and Martha Stewart did a whole show on bundt cakes, and I caught the replay. It was fitting because at that time I mostly baked bundt cakes.
Twelve years of mothering. Specifically, twelve years of being his mother. I could say all the cliches, how he's been a gift and a blessing and how he's changed our life. They'd all be true. 
But mostly, I want to write about the way he sees the world, with gratitude and joy. About how on his birthday he carefully tore at wrapping paper, and examined each gift, his face open with thanks and awe. I want to tell you about the toy store we visited after filing for passports (and how gracious he was to share his birthday with the tedious work of getting passport photos taken and the…

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