Ermahgerd, I haz a 12 year old.

First, I will have several pictures of my laundry room in a few days, now that the tile is laid and grouted and curing. I have only hurt myself once, I stabbed myself in the hand with the utility knife trying to shave off some tile to make it fit (it's vinyl tile, fyi, but looks real.) My nurse neighbor friend recommended that I just superglue it together since it was gaping but not bleeding, so didn't really need any stitches. But anyway, today I have something more important that rogue home improvement projects.

YOU GUYS. My oldest child is 12.

Twelve years ago this morning, I was at Menorah hospital for the second time in four weeks, having thought I was going to have that baby early due to a lovely bout with kidney stones. But no, he waited, and though I went into labor on my actual due date (whoever heard of such thing?) he didn't arrive until 36 hours later. Not in a hurry, this one.

He was beautiful and happy and easy. So, so easy. If he cried he needed food or a diaper, he never cried where I couldn't figure out what his problem was - with the exception of the first week where I couldn't make breastfeeding work, and once I gave up and switched to formula he was happy as a clam. A classic First Born, he walked at 10 months and controlled the remote at 12 months. He slept through the night at about eight weeks. He made me believe I was the best new mommy in the world, and for that I am grateful. I had struggled with self-esteem my entire life to that point, never finding that thing at which I really excelled, until this child was born. And suddenly, my life had meaning beyond my own needs. Ah, that's what I was missing.

Now, he's your typical mouthy tween boy, all testosterone and swagger, but with a decent amount of responsibility and humility. He is, I'm pretty sure, smarter than his father and me put together. He has the brain of an engineer - he thinks in straight, black and white lines. He is maybe not all that socially adept, but that's the thing about genetics  - DNA can be both amazing and sucky. Sorry, babe. If you're lucky, you'll have my skin instead of your dad's in high school. Maybe that will help.