Noah is 13 years old.
This is not a drill.
Noah, the baby, the turtle, the little sign-language a-BALL!-loving toddler who went to kindergarten with a backpack as big as his entire body, is now a teenager.
He asked for a cake and candles, but no singing. He wanted to shop for his presents himself, and no wrapping paper. He played video games most of the day, but also coded a new level in the Sonic the Hedgehog clone he built by himself. He asked for pizza for both lunch and dinner, but agreed to order it off the grown-up menu. He requested a day off from chores and for permission to repeat his favorite annoying Internet meme as many times as he wants.
(Usually he's limited to just a few times before I remind him that it's gotten annoying in the very best way I know how to communicate that point to him, which is to start belting out the chorus of Let It Go. He slaps his hands over his ears and shouts "OKAY OKAY I GET IT I'LL STOP.")
He may be 13 years old, but he's still as Just Noah as ever.