Teens. And then there were two.

Today is Paxton’s birthday.

 jenandpaxton

I love my kids’ birthdays, because they give me a chance to unabashedly wallow in nostalgia… to re-live every last little detail of the day I met them.  That goes for all my kids, but Paxton’s birth especially was just so.. so.. perfect.  It really was perfect.  I was 8 centimeters dilated by the time we got to the hospital, he was born less than half an hour later, and he was put straight up on my chest.  None of this weighing, checking, wrapping business. Just me, my husband, and our baby.  It was lovely.

And then he started screaming.  Oh the screaming!  Even the nurses commented on his “healthy lungs.”  I remember the one time I let them convince me to take him to the nursery for awhile so I could rest (I would make a difference choice now),  I could hear him wailing – loudly – the entire length of the hall as they wheeled him back to us.  “Oh you’ve got a night owl here!” the nurse told us with a wink.

She wasn’t kidding.

He barely slept for the next 3 years, and he displayed exactly two emotions:  utter glee and goofiness, and really pissed off. There was seldom anything in between.  He wore his heart on his sleeve, and while it exhausted me at times, I loved that about him.  He was passionate, and strong, and confident, and so uniquely different from his big brother.

The ironic part?  That boy, the one who screamed for the first quarter of his life, is now the most laid-back teenager you’d ever hope to meet.   That’s right, today Paxton turns 13, officially making me the mother of two teenagers.

I wrote about having teenagers a couple months ago, and while the response was mostly positive, it made a few (vocal) people cranky.  It seems that daring to have a good relationship with your teens – and then having the audacity to write about it – comes across as a personal affront to some people.  I’ve learned that a subset of the people who read my blog only want me to be honest when it comes to the messy, and ugly, and difficult.  They’d rather celebrate my failures than my happiness, because it makes them feel better.   What a sad commentary. And you know what?  I’m not going to apologize for having a good relationship with my teens.  I’m not.  Because I do have a good relationship with my teens.  I do love having teens.  And THAT is something that’s worth celebrating.  There are awesome and notable things about all ages, for sure, but there’s just something really… cool about teenagers.  They’re fun (in an entirely different way than playing cars and coloring with the little ones is fun).  They’re interesting.  They have great perspectives.  

But I digress.

So Paxton is thirteen.  And as I said, ridiculously laid-back.  He’s also funny, and kind, and a gifted writer, and a kick-ass guitar player.  He’s by far the biggest introvert of all four kids, which means that 1) he’s most at home when he’s in his little man-cave on his computer, and 2) I can relate to him in a way that I can’t relate to the others.  We’re often joking about venturing out where “all the people are,” and I know he gets it.   He’s also inherited from me the clumsiness that comes from a long line of Vogels… although I prefer to think of it as “spatially creative.”   The similarity ends there though, as he loves computers, video games, math, and brain teas-y type puzzles … the kind of things that make my brain explode.  He’s a loyal friend (like, fiercely loyal), a patient big brother, and honestly has a stronger sense of self at 13 than I ever had until I was in my 30’s.  He knows who he is, and is not afraid of it.

He’s one of my favorite people on this planet to hang out with, chat with, and laugh with.   He’s made me a better mother, a better person, and a better friend.

Paxton, you’re awesome, and I’m so glad I get to be your mom.

Love,  Mom

P.S.  Sorry your cupcakes sank.  

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