Tomorrow, Briton will be ten. I don't quite see how that can be possible, because he was just a baby, and a toddler, and a kindergartner and so he can't possibly be ten, but he is. In a few weeks he will start fifth grade which here, thankfully, is only the second to last year in elementary school, allowing me to pretend that I do not have a tween or an almost middleschooler for just a little longer.
"Do you think if I went to sleep now I could sleep all day and night and wake up and it would be my birthday?"
"Maybe we could build a time machine so that I can go forward a day and open my presents!"
"I just can't wait until tomorrow. I can't WAIT."
I can understand that. Ten was one of my favorite years of my childhood. I remember turning ten, being ten, knowing that I was double digits. Huge! Practically a grownup! Ten is a good year. It was always my favorite number. Ten in exciting.
Holy cow. Ten.