The Birthday Boy

Nine years ago today was supposed to be Roman’s birthday. But he¬†wasn’t born today as planned, but the day after, by C-section. The moment I saw him I was entranced. I was so proud of him. He had reddish-brown curls stuck to his wet little head, and his mouth was open wide, crying. He was beautiful. Very big, for me. He cried for a long time, until his Daddy held him. I was so drugged and exhausted that I forgot I could touch him. But I’ll never forget how it felt to awkwardly kiss his little face, right between the eyes. And later in Recovery, when the nurse said, “You can touch him,” I reached over and touched his white little arm. The next day when they brought him to me from the NICU, where he had been the biggest and healthiest baby, I fell in love with him. I held him and kissed his face over and over – his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, and his soft baby hair. My Mom asked, “Te gusta?” I said, “Si.”
Today he is a beautiful nine-year-old boy, and we love him as much as ever.
So next Saturday we are having a houseful of eight-and-nine-year-old boys, plus six girl cousins, to celebrate. IT HAD BETTER NOT RAIN. Our parties are always fun, thanks in great part to Rick. Does anyone have good ideas for party activities, both indoor and outdoor?