This is Ninja.
Today he turns 9.
That pains me to write that number. 9. Half way gone.
This little man is full throttle.
And scared of nothing and no one.
Which scares me a little. Ok, a lot.
I remember so well that day he was born. Alabama rain hitting the windows and me green as a gourd and his lungs taking their first breath.
He came out kicking and screaming and hasn't stopped since. Just like his name might suggest.
He has his daddy's smarts and rhythm and my smart mouth and freckles.
He's a planner. For instance, just this week he wrote his will. As in his Last Will and Testament.
He is quick tempered and sharp tongued. And marches to the beat of his own really really loud drum.
Like this year when he asked for derby pie for his birthday rather than a cake. Because he's his mama's boy.
And he's a leader. He knows how to get things done. Or more accurately he knows how to get other people to get things done for him. Because he's his daddy's boy.
He's sentimental and smart. Oh so smart.
And I've never met anyone with a memory as sharp as his.
And I hope that that memory will help remind him when his days are hard and long and things don't go as he planned or the things and people he loves so much aren't around any more that I loved him more than life.
And that he is his daddy's pride and joy.
And that he is cut from the same cloth of great men before him that loved their family and Jesus.
So happy happy birthday, sweet Ninja. I'm as proud as a peacock that I get to be your mama!
Now let's go karate chop something.
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