Where has it gone? My son turns 22 today......I remember finding out I was pregnant. How scared I was. The realization that I was going to be responsible for a little person, a person's well-being. That I would have to be able to provide for him, protect him, teach him. I remember how sore my ribs were as the little bugger would kick the hell out of me.
I remember walking the hospital halls in labor. Not ready for this little boy or girl, I didn't know which yet, to be outside of me. To become a reality. To become a being separate from myself. I remember the fear I felt as they prepared for a C-section. And I vaguely remember him being pulled from inside of my being. The first words I recall as he was taken from me were "Mark it down, it works" as he proceeded to pee all over the doctor. He was a long, thin baby......22 inches long, 8 lbs. 6 ozs.
And the first picture I have of him, a face that says "don't fuck with me" and fists curled into little balls. I just wanted to hold him next to me forever, to never let him go. To keep him my baby forever. I didn't know this kind of love could exist. The kind where you worried more about them than for yourself, where you would set your wild ways aside to raise another.
I remember the tears the first time he sang in a pre-school program. I was thinking my boy is growing up. But he'd still cuddle with me now and then. Curl up in bed beside me. I'd never been loved like that before.
I still remember sending him off to kindergarten that very first day. I remember his grin, his happiness. His start of independence. Those were such good years. Sitting in rain after rain, freeze after freeze, watching him quarterback those little boys through game after game. I remember hurrying home from work to spend time with my son. I'm so glad I did. It's so soon when they no longer have time for you.
And I oh to well remember the trouble years. I really wish I had known then what I know then. The trouble he was getting into, the pot smoking. I wish I had loaded his ass up and packed him away safely in rehab. He was rebellious. I'm sure he got that from his father........ I remember him being maybe 14 and walking in the house, calling me a fucking bitch. Such disrespect. I finally lost my cool after a bit of this and grabbed him around the neck and put him up against the wall....... I heard him call CPS and I was so scared they would take my children from me. I'd never touched my kids before. The cops showed up. I'm sure they expected a small, beaten boy and here stood an almost man who by that time was nearly if not 6 foot tall. The policeman talked to him and when he left, he looked me in the eye and said "Mom, put him up against the wall a few more times." We had a tough couple years. I tried so hard to steer him right. It's hard when you work, have a daughter, am single and then I took in my two nieces to raise.
But somehow or another we made it. We survived. And at about 16 he started coming back to me.....the sweetness somehow, in little bits and pieces, returning. One of the hardest things for me as a mom was watching him grow up and struggling to find his place and really needing a man to show him things, to teach him, someone he could respect. But there was not one in sight in his life. Nowhere.
The fights between us are very few and far between now.........he's a good man. Yes, he's finally becoming a man. And he has met a woman that some day he hopes to call his wife. As wives go, I couldn't want anything more for what will one day become the mother of my grandchildren. It's fun to watch him call her honey, to hold her hand. To watch them becoming together.
And as I sit here alone on his 22nd birthday, I can only wonder...........where has the time gone?
