Birthdays

I tried desperately to convince my OB to schedule Evan's induction on February 3. Great people were born on February 3, among them my grandmother, my childhood best friend and Elmo. It would be so cool, I thought, to share a birthday with your great grandmother and Elmo.

Alas, my OB refused my requests. Apparently he felt that lung development trumped sentimentality or something silly like that, because he waited for me to hit 38 1/2 weeks and scheduled the induction for the 5th instead. Thus, I cannot wish my son a happy birthday for another 48 hours. But Elmo, buddy, many happy returns of the day to you. And Nana and Eden, party on.

Two notes on the birthday thing, since my OB inadvertently saved me from the time consuming task of writing a sentimental birthday letter to Evan today:

1) Elmo is, according to all reports, perpetually 3 1/2. How can someone -- even a puppet -- be 3 1/2 on his actual birthday? I have spent far more time puzzling over this one than I should really be willing to publicly admit.

2) Evan insists that he's turning 9 on Sunday. "You'll be 2 soon," we've all been telling him for the past few days. Each time, he corrects us. "No, no, no," he instantly replies, giggling. "Nine!" What is it with my children and wishing their childhoods away?