Twenty-Six Years On The Same Journey!
Twenty six years ago it was hot...extremely hot, unseasonably hot. I remember well, because I was awaiting the birth of my son. He was already three days past due, and for me, being a first time mom, I was already anxious. I didn't realize at the time, but by this time the next day, he was already making himself ready to make his appearance.
Here it is twenty six years later, my son has left for work, and I'm sitting here reflecting on my life as a mother. We carry these little bundles for nine whole months. We paint the nursery, buy or make blankets, stock up on diapers, wipes, wash cloths, and plenty of tiny little onesies and adorable outfits. The closet is full, the change table is stocked, the crib or basinenet is waiting to welcome the new little one. The rocking chair sits with a fluffy little bunny until the time arrives to rock the newest addition to sleep. Your freezer has some extra casseroles, and your cupboards are overflowing. Everything is ready, except you.
You can read every baby book out there, and think you are prepared. You're not. When my son was born, I wasn't prepared for such a rush of emotions, I was giddy one minute, crying the next. Let's not forget the raging mama bear that surfaced, she was fierce...ask my husband. The need for our offspring to not just survive but thrive is very real and extremely strong in every species.
My son will be twenty six tomorrow and I am just as protective now as I was the day he was born. That has never changed.
Babies are sweet, tiny pooping machines. They eat and sleep for the first couple of months. As they grow, they remain awake longer, watching their environment, and learning who they can trust and who they can wrap around their little fingers. Oh yes, even babies can manipulate to get what they want. They are practising for their teenage years.
My son, he is six three, and two hundred pounds of lean muscle. He's dark, and handsome, with a whacked sense of humour just like me. He's stubborn, and fiercely protective of his family and friends. He's very social, but he is very much a homebody. He's an enigma, and I adore him.
My son started me on this crazy journey called motherhood. He was the test model. I have made my fair share of mistakes raising him, but I have also sacrificed too. Being a mother has brought out the best and worst in me. Motherhood should not be entered into lightly. This nonsense about raising them to the age of eighteen is just that...nonsense. Your children are your babies until the day you die.
So happy birthday honey. May this year be full of pleasant surprises, love and laughter. May you be as blessed as you have made me. I love you.
My son dressed as a 40's gangster for a Halloween party.
My son fishing, one of his favourite hobbies.
Here it is twenty six years later, my son has left for work, and I'm sitting here reflecting on my life as a mother. We carry these little bundles for nine whole months. We paint the nursery, buy or make blankets, stock up on diapers, wipes, wash cloths, and plenty of tiny little onesies and adorable outfits. The closet is full, the change table is stocked, the crib or basinenet is waiting to welcome the new little one. The rocking chair sits with a fluffy little bunny until the time arrives to rock the newest addition to sleep. Your freezer has some extra casseroles, and your cupboards are overflowing. Everything is ready, except you.
You can read every baby book out there, and think you are prepared. You're not. When my son was born, I wasn't prepared for such a rush of emotions, I was giddy one minute, crying the next. Let's not forget the raging mama bear that surfaced, she was fierce...ask my husband. The need for our offspring to not just survive but thrive is very real and extremely strong in every species.
My son will be twenty six tomorrow and I am just as protective now as I was the day he was born. That has never changed.
Babies are sweet, tiny pooping machines. They eat and sleep for the first couple of months. As they grow, they remain awake longer, watching their environment, and learning who they can trust and who they can wrap around their little fingers. Oh yes, even babies can manipulate to get what they want. They are practising for their teenage years.
My son, he is six three, and two hundred pounds of lean muscle. He's dark, and handsome, with a whacked sense of humour just like me. He's stubborn, and fiercely protective of his family and friends. He's very social, but he is very much a homebody. He's an enigma, and I adore him.
My son started me on this crazy journey called motherhood. He was the test model. I have made my fair share of mistakes raising him, but I have also sacrificed too. Being a mother has brought out the best and worst in me. Motherhood should not be entered into lightly. This nonsense about raising them to the age of eighteen is just that...nonsense. Your children are your babies until the day you die.
So happy birthday honey. May this year be full of pleasant surprises, love and laughter. May you be as blessed as you have made me. I love you.
My son dressed as a 40's gangster for a Halloween party.
My son after a long day of work, sleeping like a baby...my baby.
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