I'm officially old today because I'm now the mother of a teenager. This is how I remember defining old about thirteen years ago, anyway, but I will take old any day for a chance to be a mother to this guy. He might be six feet tall and I might have to stand on tip-toe to kiss his cheek, but in my mind, he's still my baby boy, my amazingly talented baby boy. I have no idea how he's able to juggle playing three sports at one time, often working out four hours a day, all while taking advanced classes and maintaining straight As. But he does. He's more comfortable away from crowds, he loves to win an argument, he can throw out one-liners that leave us in stitches, and he loves the outdoors. He's a boy of few words, unless you want to debate anything related to sports. He can eat his weight in ice cream, swim like a fish, and shoot like a sharp-shooter. Most importantly, I am incredibly lucky to call him mine!
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