I wasn’t one of those girls that dreamed of weddings and families and home-making. I wore dresses, chased boys, threw punches, and read books. I argued about religion and talked to the parents more than the kids. I was the new kid my whole life, and I forget addresses as soon as I move. But I remember the day I decided I wanted to have kids. I was sitting in my tiny church listening to a sermon on legacies and how for most of us the only thing we will have to leave behind on this earth is our children. And suddenly I knew, I wanted to be a mom. And I was 22 when I peed on that stick and my whole world changed.
Every single day since that day I have struggled with how to provide for him, how to get up early enough to pack his lunch and fix his hair and still make it through the car line. How to answer the tough questions, how to be a parent when I want to be his friend. Every single day, even when he isn’t with me, he’s there, laughing and telling me he loves me and I live for it even when I’m so tired I think “if I hear MOOOOMMMMMYYYYYY one more time I’m going to lose it.”
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| Dr. Seuss Day! |
The biggest thing I’ve learned is how to gather the moments that matter. Like me, him, and the puppy curling up in our new hammock under the deck. Or watching him count out his change into his college fund jar. Making cookies together, taking him to his very first live cave, and watching the joy on his face when it snows. I have a mental scrapbook (cause let’s face it, who has the time to have a real scrapbook??) that gets me through the lonely days, the tough days, and the frustrated days. Because in reality… his little smile and his tiny hand in mine is all that matters.
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