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For the next thirty seconds, I peel tape from his fingers while he continues talking without taking a breath.

“Theodore. Take a breath.”

He grins. “Okay Blaire.”

My mouth drops open.

He giggles so hard he nearly falls over.

“Excuse me?”

“Daddy calls you Blaire.”

“Daddy is a grown man.”

“I’m a grown kid.”

I stare at him.

A grown kid.

Jesus Christ.

I grab him around the middle and haul him against me. This morning I cried because somehow those tiny newborn fingers that used to curl around one of mine belong to this loud, hilarious little person who eats shredded cheese by the handful.

He squeals when I start kissing his cheeks.

“No! Mommy!” He’s laughing now, twisting in my arms while I attack his cheeks with kisses.

After that, the morning disappears.

The first car pulls into the driveway while Simon is putting drink in the cooler. Then another. Then three more almost at once. Our quiet house fills up so quickly I barely have time to register it. The front door keeps opening. Shoes pile up beside it. Someone hands me a gift bag, someone else hands me a bowl of fruit they brought, and Theo starts screaming the name of every person who walks through the door.

We somehow manage to keep him away from the windows until everyone gets here.

The playset reveal goes exactly how I expected.

Simon barely gets out, “Wait, buddy—” before Theo is halfway up the ladder.

For the next hour, the backyard belongs to the kids. They swarm the play ground while the adults congregate around the patio and taco bar. I spend most of my time making sure everyone has food, helping wipe salsa off little faces, and repeatedly reminding Theo that no, being the birthday boy does not mean he gets to go down the slide while another child is still at the bottom.

We eat. We sing happy birthday. Theo blows out his candles before we make it through the first line, so we relight them and try again.

Then comes presents.

Out in the living room, Theo is running a sweatshop of other children helping to unbox his new toys. Henry is already on the floor assembling something with too many pieces for a kid his age. Jamie’s son has claimed the newest collection of dump trucks and is working to break them free of their cardboard. Three kids from preschool are squishing play-doh into the seams of the coffee table.

“So,” Brittney says, popping a strawberry from the fruit platter in her mouth. “How’s the move going? Felling settled in?”

“Mostly settled.” I glance at the living room again, checking on Theo out of habit even though Simon’s only a foot from him. “Simon’s redoing half the basement so that Theo will have a playroom. It’s a mess down there.”

Jamie smiles, small and genuine. “The house is beautiful, B. It already looks like you two have been here together for years.”

“Thanks. The party helped. Panic is an incredible motivator. You should see what terror does for hanging curtain rods.”

“When’s the cast come off?” Brittney asks, nodding toward Theo.

“Tuesday. He’s been a good spot about it, adapted quickly to doing things with only one hand.”