I’m not a gusher…
I’m not someone who would ever say “my kids are my life”. I would never say anything was my sole reason for living. I am a multifaceted human being with many interests and motivations.
But my kids are pretty awesome.
12 year old little ball of sass. This girl is a good foot shorter than every other girl in her class, but what she lacks in height she makes up for in mental capacity. I love her for so many reasons, but more importantly, I relate to her. I can’t regret that I had her when I was young because it strengthens me as a parent to a preteen girl. It wasn’t all that long ago that I was a ball of sass (and angst) and I remember all too well the constant roller coaster of emotions that I was on, and that I put everyone else on.
She grounds me on a regular basis. More than anyone in my life, she knows how to call me on my bullshit and I can see myself through the eyes of someone who has nothing to gain from my fall from grace. I don’t think anyone could ever know the amount of love I have for her, the kind of love that goes beyond the normal unconditional kind a parent has for their child. For a long time it was just me and her, and I will always credit her for saving my life and giving me something to hold on to in a time when everything else was in flux. No matter how many times in the past twelve years I’ve wanted to drop everything and run without looking back, she kept me steady.
A couple paragraphs could never do this beautiful human being justice. I am beyond proud of the kind hearted person she has already grown into, and it gives me so much anticipation to find out what she can achieve in her life. There are no boundaries or barriers, no glass ceilings or steel walls that she cannot knock down. And if she can’t, I will.
When I found out I was pregnant again, I really wanted a girl. As you can see, I’ve had good luck with girls. Nev was such an amazing, intelligent baby, I wanted a repeat.
Boys are completely different, and he is completely lovable. No one in my life has ever made me feel more important than I feel when he reaches out to me with his chubby arms. At two and a half he has manipulated me more than any man ever has or ever will. I was always told that the relationship between a mother and her son was something that couldn’t be explained or replaced, and I am here to confirm this.
I feel a lot of pressure… he is so important to me, and I to him. It’s up to me to teach him what it takes to really be a man. His father can teach him how to pee standing up, how to throw a football, how to tie a tie. I have to teach him how to make a girl feel beyond special (though I’m beginning to suspect he was born with that skill). I want him to know that it’s okay to be different, and to let others be the same. It’s my job to teach him to be gentle and sweet, to have a sense of humor in the face of trouble, how to be happy. He’s got a pretty awesome big sister to help him with that stuff, too.
He loves to snuggle and wrestle, most of the time simultaneously. He is a monster, and I can never remain angry with him for more than 12 seconds.
He’s got a head of curls that Shirley Temple would have envied. And although he is often mistaken for a little girl, I can’t bring myself to cut it. If God plucked his most beautiful cherub off the harps, that would be Aidan. Every morning when I hear him wake up and I go into his room his face lights up and he says, “I love you, Mama”. I grab his rosy, chubby cheeks and I kiss him right on his lips. These moments are the most precious, these moments I see when I close my eyes.
A true love story. Two flawed, cherished, amazing creatures that are here on this Earth because of me. They share my imperfections, and seeing my own faults in such innocence allows me to go easier on myself.