I am the mom of a five-year-old.

I'm practicing for Sunday: "I am the mom of a five-year-old." How the hell can that be??? Let's see, five years ago today, it was Saturday. I was 41 weeks pregnant, big as a duplex, eating ice cream. My dad was in town for the weekend (probably a UC Alumni Association meeting), and helped me buy a new water heater, mine having recently kicked the bucket.

Tangent: they have these handy guides for "how big a water heater should I buy?" The one I read said I only needed a 30-gallon one, which is the size I was replacing. I pointed to the 50-gallon one and said, "I want that one." My dad said, "But you only need a 30-gallon one!" And I said, "No way. I want to be able to start the dishwasher, start a load of laundry, and still take a shower." I got the 50-gallon one. (Turns out I did the right thing: as a single mom, I don't have time to space out running the dishwasher then a load of wash and somehow fitting in a shower.)

Anyway, so we bought the water heater, as I said, 5 years ago today. 5 years ago tomorrow, in the morning, my dad finished hooking it up (with some interesting, eh, creative hookup methods, as some pipes had rusted and couldn't be loosened), and he asked me to help carry the old one to the curb. "I'm nine months pregnant!" I blustered. "C'mon, just help me!" So I took the other end, squatting really wide because I had this big belly in the way, and we walked it to the curb (where someone grabbed it in like 1 hour, I swear).

Just an hour later, I started feeling this "ugh" feeling. Went away, came back. Went away, came back. I called in the troops. Gave birth the next morning at 9AM to a beautiful, red-haired boy, 9 pounds, 7 ounces.

Happy birthday, sweetheart. It was all worth it. And isn't that water heater rockin?