Some women are natural mothers, full of patience and kindness, ready to nurture and raise many children. It’s like they have a sixth sense about all things motherhood. That was not me. I have fumbled through raising kids in a constant process of trial and error. The boys were (and still are) a learning experience – kind of like Chernobyl or the Titanic.
Boy One got the worst of it.
He got to experience the trips to the ER for possible gastrointestinal bleeds and West Nile, both of which turned out to be nothing more than constipation.
He was the one that came with the poorly packed diaper bag that carried eight and a half pairs of shoes that no longer fit him, but no diapers. This resulted in him being diapered in a dish towel more times than I care to admit.
He was the one that fell off of the couch (more than once) because no one ever told me that a completely stationary baby can master the art of rolling over in one hour and, after that point, it doesn’t matter if you are standing right next to him, if you aren’t actually looking at him (even if it’s only for 3 seconds), you can’t catch him.
Which brings me to my next point: He’s the one that taught me that moms do not actually have eyes in the back of their heads. And they need them because…..
He was the one that taught me that a penny is the exact size of a nine-month-old’s windpipe and that screaming and flapping your arms wildly will not remove said penny and that you just better pray that The Husband happens to be standing there at the time.
He was the one that listened intently to Basic Contract Law for Paralegals instead of nursery rhymes because I was in the middle of my degree when he was born.
He got to deal with the dental issues because I was “that mom” that was too stupid to heed the warnings about sugary juice; however, for the record, I still believe that some people are genetically predisposed to acidic saliva, resulting in increased susceptibility to cavities.
He still suffers from inability to sleep solo because I let him sleep with me from Day One. And by sleep “with me” I mean we slept with our faces inches apart and our arms around each other, which is still his preferred sleeping position.
But hey, as of today I have somehow successfully kept this guy alive for eight entire years. I didn’t think I had it in me.