Motherhood. Erma Bombeck called it the world’s second oldest profession. It’s on everyone’s mind in May thanks to Hallmark and retail establishments. And today I am celebrating the 33rd anniversary of my entry into the ‘hood.
Guess you know what this means. It’s my son’s birthday and HE is getting old!
I have some shallow reflections about this survival adventure, when he arrived naked and I was afraid.
He was an adorable baby but didn’t come with a user manual and cried for no reason.
He loved dirt and sometimes he ate it. But he didn’t get sick (much). There was that beef stroganoff incident we no longer speak of. We no longer eat beef stroganoff either.
I bought him wondrous, educational toys but he preferred common household items
I thought he might gravitate to music and the arts, but he was more the cowboy type.
He loved to read and one time he dressed up as his favorite book’s character.
I let him pick out his own clothes.
He watched Bugs Bunny cartoons and didn’t turn out violent.
He made his first brownies when he was 9 years old on a Saturday morning while I slept in, qualifying him for son of the year. To this day his cooking skills, and love of good food are legendary.
I didn’t care what color his hair was as long as he wasn’t going for tattoos and piercings. He forgave me for botching up the home dye job, after I took him to a professional for a redo.
He had some killer Halloween costumes.
I will never be convinced the runner was safe, but I still love this photograph.
It was hard to let him go.
I tried not to hover but was always there in the background.
The braces paid off because he turned out handsome, and he married a beautiful woman, and when you are shallow, looks are everything.
He always made me laugh. When I broke my foot two weeks before my beloved sister Linda died of cancer, he sent me this video. It really helped pull me up by my orthopedic bootstraps, and it still makes me laugh.
And now he is a wonderful father to TWO little boys we like to call ‘pride’ and ‘joy.’
My role as a mother has changed through the years as my son has grown into adulthood. But one thing will never change: the stretch marks. Oh yeah, and my undying love for him. As a matter of fact I will love him forever, but not in that creepy “I’ll Love You Forever” book way.
What parenting survival memories can you share?
*Author’s note: This was originally published in 2015, but I updated it for 2016.