Yesterday when I would have normally been posting something for this space, I was bringing back McDonald’s breakfast for my son on his birthday. He turned 19 yesterday, and it hadn’t occurred to me until this very moment that this is his last teenage year. He is my big baby, which sounds derogatory but isn’t meant to be. He was my first baby, and will always be my baby, but now he is 19. Wow. When did that happen?

My husband and I woke him from a deep sleep to ask if he wanted something special for breakfast. He did. So out I went and back I came. We brought him his mocha coffee and breakfast in bed. When he swung his legs over the side of his bed, my husband asked where he was going, and he declared, “the living room,” which coincidentally was exactly where I was going to eat my breakfast.

Will wonders never cease?

So we ate breakfast together in a comfortable silence, the TV remaining off, the quiet punctuated by the occasional beep of his cell phone which also doubles as his fire department beeper. He has it set up with some kind of app to get the fire calls on his phone.

We spoke a little bit about his upcoming job interview.

Eventually, breakfast was over, and he left.

Surprisingly, he returned, papers and pen in hand, leaning on a cereal box, asking me questions about his last ten years of residences for the background check.

He did his paperwork, and checked out his phone, and I checked my Kindle, looking up every now and again.

It was a nice way to spend his birthday morning.

Happy Birthday.