My Son is turning sixteen this month. Can we just take a moment of silence here?
Okay, I’m back, and the paper bag I’ve breathed into it is right beside me for any upcoming panic attacks I may have.
Now I could cliché the shit out of this and write the typical ‘Where did the time go’ bullshit, but the truth is I know exactly where the time went. I lived it. I’m the one who spent the past sixteen years doing my best to raise this not so little belly stretcher. And no, it hasn’t been easy there have been days I have wanted just to give up. But as you can tell I didn’t, we have at the very least made it to sixteen.
Sixteen years isn’t a terribly long time on a grand scale, but from baby to teenager, those are some stupid crazy changes I’ve been through with this kid. All of them as precious as the next.
In sixteen years I have made lovely memories, but I have also learned I’m not perfect, there have been many bumps in this parenting road, each of them, the two of us have survived. And guess what? He still loves me; he may have a scar or two, but we survived.
There was the time; he fell head first off his bunk bed. Landing directly on his cranium. That caused what I can only describe as a cartoon-like hematoma. Growing as fast as Pinocchio’s nose when caught in a lie. When that thing drained into his eyes, grocery shopping became a time of judgment. If I could have had a t-shirt made up for him, it would have said: “No, my Mom did not beat me, I’m as sturdy as a drunk monkey.”
In no chronological order, there was also the time he went ATVing with his Uncle and fell off a cliff. This one still fresh in my mind as it only happened last summer. Luckily he had learned how to steer properly and rode that thing like a pro until it finally stopped.
He survived, my brother nearly didn’t.
When he was a baby just learning how to walk, he went running towards the front door, tripped and landed forehead first into the corner of a wall. No tears. But the amount of blood you might find at a horror scene leaking from his little head ensured a hospital trip and seven stitches.
Like parents do I did my best to teach and let my child experience things for himself. For example taking the training wheels off a bike is an exciting time to be a parent. Unless maybe you didn’t expect not to be able to keep up with the little bugger going mock-toddler as he veered in and out of traffic. Causing you to have to dive head first while grabbing the back of his new freedom-wheels, landing face first on the pavement. I only had minimal bleeding.
He survived the nights I didn’t pick him up out of the crib because I was trying to sleep train. I cried and paced, but he fell asleep eventually.
He survived the time I didn’t give him organic homemade baby food.
He survived through my mastitis and being formula fed.
He survived the birth of his baby sister and he yet got enough attention.
He survived the time I forgot to be the tooth fairy. Survived so well in fact, that he made out with a fiver out of guilt, causing a whole new precedence for child number two. My wallet barely survived.
He survived the time I grounded him from all things electronic because he was falling behind in school. Although you would have thought he was dying if you could have heard the moans of boredom coming from his mouth.
Despite the times, I found myself crying in the corner because I didn’t feel worthy enough to be his Mom, we still made it. Fail after fail, and guess what? This kid turned out pretty damn good.
As Moms we can be extremely hard on ourselves, there are always going to be bumps in the road. And all we can do is our best to help them survive.
Now I have to teach him how to drive. Get off the road people, this one I am not sure we will survive.