On the
Occasion of Your Twelfth Birthday:
A letter to my son
Let me first say what all adults say, even though it is
rhetorical and slightly ridiculous; “I cannot believe how big you are getting!”
Yes we all say
things like that because one day you are a blip on the ultrasound screen and the
next you are asking for the keys to the car, which thankfully we have not yet
reached that point yet. We are amazed at
how quickly you children grow and seem astounded by your progress. We should be more surprised if you didn’t
grow or perhaps shrunk but instead we marvel at your age, your size, the
changing squeak in your voice. Forgive
us and indulge us, sometimes it is all a bit to take in.
As I reflect on the
day you were born I would like to state for the record that you took your sweet
time. Your desire to not leave where you
were comfortable seems to have stayed with you.
I am sure if we had realized how much you love video games we could have
coaxed you out sooner with the sound of X-Box blipping and bleeping but who
knew? And I suppose I should take some
of the blame, if I had paid attention in that class I might have learned
something about giving birth but as it was your dad was too busy commentating
his way through his distress and I am sure by now you know him well enough to
know taking a class with him probably isn’t the best idea.
I remember holding
you after you were born and crying when I realized you were all mine and the
responsibility knocked me flat, that and a hormone surge that could have lit up
New York City. I remember your new baby
smell and I remember when that went away and was replaced by new baby poop
smell. But it was all okay because you
were sweet and loveable and mine.
You did not come
with a manual, neither did your siblings, but in your case it has been hit or
miss. You were a brave soul to be born
first. Your dad and I have made a few
mistakes along the way. We probably
shouldn’t have listened when we were told “Baby Mozart” was good for your
brain. I am pretty sure that advice was
wrong. I should have fed you more
vegetables and fewer chicken nuggets. I
could apologize for these things and many more.
Like the day you fell down the stairs, or the day I yelled at you for
hiding in the closet eating cat food because I thought someone had come into
our house and abducted you while I was in the bathroom. Since you were only a year old I probably should
have toned down the yelling a bit but fear can make a person lose sight of
reality. Or the afternoon I spanked you
for biting me. The sight of the blood dripping
from my thumb rendering me temporarily insane, but I was sorry even as I placed
the steri strips on my wound.
You were “a rascal”
as your grandmother called you. You ran
without stopping, you talked without taking a breath. You knocked down blocks and chased the
cat. But in all that and even with
parents who had no manual, you have continued to grow.
You have scraped
your knees and fought with your brother.
You have exhausted us and worried us.
You have made us proud and brought us joy. I am not sure what you will remember from
your childhood. Our memories will never
quite match up. You will remember your life as a child, I will remember it as
an adult. I will remember holding your
hand and reading you books. I will
remember when I yelled or had to punish you.
I will remember when I slept on your floor when you were sick and held
the “throw up bucket” for you. I will
remember my tears of joy watching you in your first play. I will remember hugging you when you were
hurt because someone said something that made you feel bad and telling you to
be the bigger person, even though I wanted to punch the little bugger myself.
What will you
remember? I am not sure but I hope you
remember that I slept on your floor and wiped away your tears. I am hoping you won’t remember the times when
I flailed my arms and yelled, “Are you kidding me!?” To be honest boys are a mystery to me. Your behavior at times perplexes me. I am not sure why you would bring a frog into
the house to see if he could climb the stairs.
Or why you would let the tub overflow to see where the water would
go. Or why you thought the Little People
could be flushed down the toilet and appear somewhere else. It all remains a mystery. And as you get older (as you are bound to do)
the mysteries continue, like why you think standing in the bathroom while the
shower is running constitutes a shower.
Or why you think cleaning the bathroom doesn’t mean cleaning the toilet.
So as your life is truly just beginning and
mine is reaching its half-way point ( yes I could very well live to be 90 so
please be prepared), I am painfully aware of how few years we will actually
spend living together but joyfully aware of what lies ahead, where you can go and
what you can do. My hope is you will go
and you will do. That you will take the opportunities
that come your way. I hope you will
forgive us for our mistakes and realize all of what we have done and will
continue to do is because we love you.
Just as I don’t understand you I know you don’t always understand
us. Why we limit your video game time or
make you fold your laundry. Why you have
to do the dishes or clean the bathroom.
Or why I stand behind you whispering, “say thank you” . Someday it may not all seem so mysterious. Then
again you and your siblings may have a good laugh at
my expense as you sit around having a beer and imitating me…”Remember when mom
used to (fill in the blank).” That is okay;
just remember what goes around…
And when I am old
and my face is lined with deep creases, you may come to realize many are
because of you. I wouldn’t change a
single one. Each wrinkle, every crease
tells our story. My life is happy
because I am a mom. My life is complete
because I am your mom.
Happy Birthday
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