Thank you Big O

This day is meaningful for so many more unseen reasons than the surface holds. The fact that I get to celebrate it is a miracle in itself. Seeing the other side, a decade and a half later amazes me because I did not know if I would survive it, and frankly it still might be too soon to tell, my first child is 15 today.

Everyone remembers their children being born. I remember being told that we would probably never get pregnant. That notion stung deep to a young woman who felt her sole purpose in the world was being a mother. So, you take a million pregnancy tests. You take your temperature daily, making sure to not lift your head while locating the thermometer. You pay better attention to your health and what you are putting in your body. Lastly, you pray that maybe by some strange probability your miracle becomes a possibility. 

I remember sitting in a room, very pregnant, very grateful, looking at a baby's crib. I would sit in there and wonder if this child had any idea how much they were wanted/loved/cherished all before he has taken his first breath. I would nervously wonder how I would be as a mother and even question myself as to if I thought I could do it. It now is a funny thing that I have learned about life, the "ifs" aren't really an option, you just do. Maybe 15 years has given me the hindsight that I longed for in the beginning, but the rewards are something I could never have imagined.

The first kid is sort of a giant experiment. Sure, you read the books, you take old lady's advice, but ultimately this kid lives as long as you don't screw something up. Ironically, that notion hasn't changed, it just keeps being adapted. With every moment you contemplate, "This mothering thing? I'm kicking BUTT," some new phase comes along to keep you in check. Never get too comfortable...unless you are the only one playing musical chairs. As time passes, so too do so many things change. 

I saw a picture this morning of the birthday boy when he was eight years old. I looked at him and studied his face. I was immediately flooded with tears. Tears of pride and tears of strength welled up in my eyes knowing how much this kid has been through in 15 years. Knowing how much I longed for him to hold and take care of, knowing how I have tried to be the best mom, and at times dad, I could be, and lastly feeling like I have many times fell short of that endeavor. I know that he had to grow up quicker than I ever wanted him to. I looked at this eight year boy in a picture and thought, "Wow, I am so lucky I get to be this kid's mom." The gravity of this day, 15 years later still holds as it did the first time I laid eyes on him. Not only do I get to know and watch him grow up, he made me a mom...and for that I will be eternally grateful.

That being said, in three days my first little nugget will be taking his driving permit test. If you see me with a strange look in my eye and sweat on my brow, it maybe due to menopause or the fact that he's nearly street legal. Tears of pride, tears of strength and at times tears of fear, it is no doubt how we will get through the next 15 years. Thank you Big O.