And ten years makes it a decade.
“Long days and short years,” was her answer.
Three thousand six hundred and fifty long days, and only ten short years later, I know that she really nailed her answer.
Today is my little boy’s tenth birthday. Where the fuck did the time go? Wasn’t he just born the other day? Time, for a parent, really does fly. One day I’m heating baby bottles in the middle of the night and the next (last night) I find Rio making his very first “to-do” list with his new fountain pen.
Of course, the thing to do is to smoke your cigar on the day your son is born. But that turned out to be a rather hellish day, as did the weeks and months to follow. The cigar, re-sealed in its tube, languished in the butter compartment of our fridge for the next decade.
Today, I intend to smoke it. While I work on a why-you-should-quit-smoking article for dLife.
(I think I might have mentioned that I’m a better tour guide than role model.)
Tonight, I’m pre-inserting a Med-T Sof-Sensor in my leg. Letting it get a head start. Letting it get well-soaked in interstitial fluid. Letting the agitated insertion site settle back down. Getting ready to fire up mySentry tomorrow.
Barbie comes tomorrow at twelve-thirty to train me on the box of gear. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, but first a look back at the last decade: