We always called our kids by their first initial. Still do, for that matter. First there was a B, then a Q, then finally a T. When I first moved to Newberg I got a kick out of looking for a BQT license plate, which, after years of looking, finally appeared up in North Seattle. Now they’re a dime a dozen right here in our little town.
Tomorrow my baby T turns 34 years old. Don’t worry, he’s used to hearing me refer to him as my baby. I suppose I’d stop if it really bothered him. I guess by the time you’re 34 you’ve grown past being embarrassed by your mother’s loving attention. You might not even care if she were to post a picture like this one…
…and let her gush over that heavenly blond mop and the sweetness of her sons’ shared affection.
Happy birthday, T.
(What do you remember about the day you were born?)