He’s a teenager.
To be completely honest, he’s been a teenager since December.
But we got home with Clementine 8 days before he turned 13. 
I’m just glad he actually had a cake. And presents.
Because mama was jet-lagging. Bad.
So bad, I’m not 100% sure I remember everything that was actually going on at his party.
Other than cake and ice cream (so grateful I took pictures), cards, presents and the usual birthday chaos.
As you can see, my travel-partner was feeling the jet lag pain, too.
But Miss Clementine? Not so much.
Regardless of my and my husband’s mental state at the time, I’m so glad we celebrated.
Because turning 13 is absolutely worth celebrating.
And this guy is, too.
Happy 13th, Dalton. You might be well on your way to becoming a man, but no matter how big you get, or where this life takes you, you’ll always be my baby.