Today my first-born son is 34 years old. It seems like he was just a baby yesterday, and I wasn’t much older.
I didn’t know it was possible to love someone that much until this five-weeks-premature space alien bobbled his head to one side and looked directly into my eyes. And I knew right away I would kill to protect him.
Which was good, because the six months of colic might have driven me over the edge if I didn’t love him so much.
Happy birthday, Mike!