He started out so tiny.

18 years and a week or so ago, under a cloud of morphine during an emergency C-Section, I brought this little guy into the world. He was 5 pounds, 4 ounces, and born a few weeks early. His heart had stopped beating, and he wasn't breathing, but the medical team was able to resuscitate him, and he has been thriving ever since.

That little scrap of a person wound himself completely around my heart. I was actually worried about having more kids because I didn't think it was possible to love another child as much as I loved him.

He started pulling his little naked self up to standing at about 7 months.

For two months I followed him with a Polaroid camera to make sure I could get this picture; his first steps at 9 months.


Then he turned a year old, and I really got that obnoxious taste of time flying by.

He was such an imp. He kept us busy, never slowing down for a second, and he spent a good amount of time in time-out. It didn't really faze him, though, as you can tell.

He grew, and started making his mark in this world. He has his struggles, but I marvel at just how good he really is. I am so proud of him in so many ways.

Last week he turned 18. His best friend, Zack, came out for the weekend, as well as my mom, and we celebrated all weekend long.


So welcome to adulthood, Matthew. I hope it is everything you want it to be, and more than you ever expected.
And by the way, you're still wrapped around my heart. I love you!