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|Ready to sink or swim? You decide.|
My little baby boy went with his Daddy yesterday to look at a college he is thinking he might want to attend next year.
Wow. Mama’s had a little wake up call.
As in, I think I’ve again been caught enjoying another one of my lovely sojourns in the land of DeNile.
This morning I left a comment on someone else’s blog who wanted to know about “the best part of my pregnancy”, and so I spent a few moments thinking back on those days. And it was pretty easy to do, because I remember it like it was yesterday. Don’t you? (assuming, of course, that you ARE a woman who has been pregnant)
I remember how incredibly hungry I was. It was a gnawing, insatiable kind of hunger. Deep calling unto deep. When I was hungry, when I needed food, I needed it THEN. “Outta my way: Hungry woman, comin’ through!”
My husband would take me to eat ribs. Ribs from South Street, and chocolate shakes from Rotiers, right after my doctor’s appointments in that part of town. And it was never enough. I was hollow. At least, The Parasite inside of me was hollow. And demanding sustenance. I was merely his willing teeth and mouth.
Gosh, it was AWESOME!!!
And then we’d come home, and I’d lie on the bed with my shirt pulled up, and I’d drink the iciest, coldest glass of water that I could manage without inducing brainfreeze, and we’d settle in to watch the show. It was as if my in utero son was wondering who the heck had left the AC running full blast, because it was waking him up from his satiated post-meal slumbers, to COLD FEET. WHAT’S GOING ON IN HERE??? And he’d begin wiggling, and kicking, and the shape of an arm, or a leg, or a clearly visible FOOT would dance across the surface of the skin of my huge belly. It was hilarious! It was wonderful! And actually a bit eerie, in a sci-fi kind of way.
And now, that little fellow has not only escaped the warm protection of my womb, but he’s looking at escaping the protection of our loving home, and he has the audacity to be actually quite happy about it.
And I’m thinking he’s got a heck of a lot of nerve: I carried the little fellow, inside of me, and then out. I wiped his bum, and wiped his tears, and doctored his cuts and his fevers, and cuddled him and snuggled him and read and read and read to him until I quite literally lost my voice (long story for another time, but it’s true), and prayed over him, and sang to him, and cooed to him, and delighted in him as he smiled for the first time, and rolled over the first time, and learned how to crawl, and to pull up, and to WALK, and to read, and to drive, and now? Now he’s doing THIS? To me?
You know, I’m really NOT one of those women who lived to have a baby, or even craves holding babies. I’m just not. But THIS little guy…THIS little guy was different. THIS little guy was special. I fell in love the first time I looked in his eyes. I was smitten. Gone right round the bend, beyond hope of retrieval. Daft, crazy in love. And he SEEMED to feel the same way!
|I love you, forever.|
But I’ve prayed to do this Mothering gig I’ve been doing, well. And to do it well, you work yourself right out of a job. You launch them straight out of your life. And while I sure as heck don’t want him living in my basement when he’s 40, doing whatever social networking we have available in 23 years, I still am finding myself quite taken aback by this turn of events, that I’ve always known was coming.
Pass the box of tissues, please.This morning, anyway, I’m going to wallow for a bit in the: “Darn kid is just going to go off and leave us” sentiment.