My son is ten. I can hardly believe it. The child that had to be convinced to come on out of the womb a week late, who hasn't stopped talking since he figured out how to string two coos or grunts together, who never fails to give me some sugar, even when I totally don't deserve it... he's a whole decade old.

The night before his birthday, he struggled to sleep, and ended up wedged between me and the hubs for the last few hours of the night. We let him open his presents on our bed, and he was delighted with everything. After putzing around for a few hours, we made a rough plan for the day.

My brother, sister-in-law and baby nephew sent our dino boy the coolest shirt:

So, of course, that was the outfit for the day.

We decided to check out the indoor go-cart place that he wanted to take friends to for his birthday party. Then, lunch at In N Out. And then... who knows?

The go-cart place was really cool. We got there right after they opened, and signed up for a race right away. The boy decided he wanted to drive without anyone else in the family, so we all hung back and watched while he got helmeted up and ready to drive.

There was a little trepidation going on before the race started, but he still managed to work up a good "Moooooom" when I was acting like the paparazzi. After a quick pep-talk from his dad, he pulled out onto the track.

The first lap or two, he drove slowly around the track. While he cruised around, the rest of the family stood at the end of the one straightaway on the track and hooted like baboons, urging him to step on it.

He did not want to step on it. The phrase "sunday driver" comes to mind. Even when he was being lapped by the other kids. He felt like he was going fast enough, and really, who cares.

A few laps in, however, he started to pick up the pace a bit. And then a bit more. By the end, he was driving like his mother, nearly colliding with walls and making whoops of joy around the corners.

Maybe you can't tell from his squinty eyes, but he's smiling hard enough to crack his face off.

The rest of the day went by at a sunday driver pace, with burgers, and birthday shopping, and dinner out at a pizza joint, where the whole family ate pasta. Go figure.

While we ate, there was a huge 1st birthday party going on at the restaurant. There must have been 15 couples with their small children, most babies younger than 2, with a few toddlers scattered in. I looked around the table at my three kids and marveled. I used to be like those moms, juggling a slice of pizza while holding a fussy baby over my shoulder and using the toes of my feet like a chimpanzee to clutch a toddler's waist band so they wouldn't wander away. I used to be swallowed up in the minute to minute needs of my kids, and now I was eating my own plate of food without having to share or stop every 15 seconds to implore someone to do something. There was no food spilled on the table. No one was fussing.

It is enough to make me want to warble Circle of Liiiiiiiiife.

Still, it is a bittersweet realization to know that those days are well and truly behind me. That is, until I get me some grandbabies. And considering two of my kids are now tweens with the youngest hot on their heels, I'm almost there.

We finally got to the cake portion of the evening, with my son so eager to blow out the candles, that he almost forgot to make a wish. Almost.

Whatever it was, little guy, I hope it comes true, like I do with all your wishes. Except maybe the ones where dinosaurs come back to life, and you get a pet iguana.