Happy Birthday, Dovamatic

So today is The D Man's 11th birthday.

How is it humanly possible that (a) Dovi is 11 and (b) I am the parent of an 11 year old! I mean, I'm 25! That means he would've been born when I was 14! OK he was born when I was 20 and I am the mother of an 11 year old and I am 31. Yikes.

I'm actually writing this post the night before and setting it to publish at 7:31am, the time that D was born. Cool. EDITED TO ADD: For some reason it didn't work and I published it at stinky, non-meaningful 8:48am. Darn.

So I guess I'll be a bit introspective on this the big milestone. I mean, it's time to start planning for the Bar Mitzvah! We still need to figure out exactly what we're going to do, but let me tell you, it will be:

• extraordinary
• epic
  
• tear-inducing
  
• super fabulous

And I have 2 years with which to plan it.

I still remember when you were born. You were so tiny, so perfect (I mean, how was I supposed to know that...ummm....babies aren't normally that floppy and sleepy?). You seriously were the king. Your grandparents and Aunt Yehudit were lining up every day just to come over and hold you. We could not get enough of you and your cute little cold eensy weensy hands. And those hands? Still cold. Still teeny. They're so yummy. I love to kiss your little hands. And your fluffy head. What is it with you and your Abba and the excessive hair growth? It's like you get your hair cut, and within three weeks you have a mop on your head! But it's so soft and silky, and we'd better enjoy it while you've got it, because if you'll be following my brothers, you'll be balding by high school. Those genetics. They get you every time. (And just for my brother Aaron, the less-bald brother, not to be confused with David, the completely bald brother. I'm feeling Dovatronic...drinking Gin and Tonic. Love you guys :) )

So, Mr. D, you've been here for 11 years. I have to be honest, every year, when we have a birthday, I thank G-d that we got another. Another year to love you and care for you, to laugh with you, to cry with you, to scream with and AT you. Life with you is not simple. It's not easy. Heck, we've got a whole blog devoted to explaining you! And you have your own section in my handy dandy uber organized "P for Dummies" ring binder. And that section is longer than all three of your siblings plus the restaurtant menus put together.

I still remember when we went to New York when you were three months old to see Dr. Axelrod for the first time and get the official diagnosis for what we already knew was true. That Saturday night, we went to Washington Heights to visit Lana and David S and their daughter Simi, who has FD as well. She was 2ish at the time. I remember them opening the door holding her. The first thing that went through my mind? "Oh My G-d. They've been doing this for TWO WHOLE YEARS".

I cannot believe that I've been doing this for ELEVEN WHOLE YEARS. How have you been here so long? How have you ever not been here?

I wrote a few weeks ago about how I wonder what my life would be like had you just been Dovi, not Dovi with FD and the currently large infected sore in his mouth due to the unfortunate fall on Simchas Torah and the lack of pain in the mouth causing you not to baby said sore and causing the sore not to heal necessitating another message to the dentist and probably a lovely visit there this afternoon on my first afternoon to myself after my new and improved reduced work schedule that is allowing me not to work on Thursday afternoon or Friday. But seriously. What would it be like?

I've gotta say, I have no desire to know what it would be like. Please, G-d, give me YEARS more of broken sleep, feedings, meds, IEPs, doctor appointments, therapy appointments, oxygen, BiPap, g-tubes, nurses in my house, fighting with the insurance company.

Give me years more.

I'm not ready to be done.

Happy Eleventh Birthday!

I love you so much, Dovi Bear.