13 year old boys
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My son turned eleven six months ago this week. I remember the night he was born, in our upstairs bedroom in a little red farmhouse in Massachusetts. He was a peaceful baby, patient with my insecurities. I bonked his head once, by mistake. He startled but didn’t cry. I did, worrying in my postpartum haze of hormones that I didn’t deserve such a calm, easy baby. Back when my son was born, moms who had eleven year olds seemed ancient. Eleven. How did he get to be so old? But my son is sma...