Long before I birthed that first child, I found myself consumed with the health and well being of that child that I , and only I, was responsible for. I quit smoking (mostly). I ate healthier (usually). I exercised and ate my veggies (OK, OK, let's not get into fairy tales here). But he was mine to take care of, and I took that responsibility to heart.
Lo, and behold, a healthy son was born. And I continued to rule supreme over the well being of this SON. I fed him wholesome foods (mostly). I taught him to look both ways when crossing the street. He learned to ride a two wheeler while always wearing a helmet.
He cried when getting immunizations, and I cried silently along with him in my heart. He got bit by a dog, and it was all I could do not to bite the dog back. He learned to drive, adding more than a few grey hairs to my growing collection.
Every scar, every scraped knee, every wound on his body was a personal injury to me. I spent years cleaning, bandaging, healing each and every blemish this cruel world left upon that body. I cried oceans of unshed tears for every single pain that coursed through this body I had given life too (very God like, no, dear reader? No wonder women keep having babies. The power angle is awesome!).
Yes. I, and I alone (well, almost alone) took this little zygote and cherished and protected and loved and nurtured it into, well, a person, dammit! Yes! I had grown me an adult (again, mostly). I had taken the ultimate challenge of what to do with this thing growing inside me, and I had (presto, magicko) turned it into a person. An adult. A young adult. An adult now entrusted with his own well being.
And this is how he came home:
|From Graduation Day june 2009|
The little b@stard! It doesn't even say "MOM". (Although if you look closely, it does kinda look like me when I'm pissed at him-which would be now!)