Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Nothing was more frightening to me than the day, eight and a half years ago, when I realized the image on the ultrasound screen was a pair of testicles. I already had a daughter, and I reasoned I am a mother of girls. I know what to do with girls.
But man, oh man, when I held him in my arms that first time all I could do was cry and say, "I love boys! I love boys! I love boys!" It didn't matter that his wine colored birthmark made him favor a baby Gorbachev or that his feet turned frightening shades of purple to punctuate his angry cries.
And he was such an affectionate little boy. So joyful and should I say it again? Cuddly.
But the hint of man has come knocking at my door all too often lately, and it terrifies me. This year, he refused to have me walk him to his second grade classroom after the first day. He jumps out of the car and sprints to the playground as soon as the car slows to 5 miles per hour (not really, but it seems that way). If I do something that hurts his feelings, he becomes sullen and refuses my efforts to mend the bonds (shrugging off hugs and such).
I'll go through these periods where I think, what have I created? What did I do wrong? If he's this tough at 8, what will 15 bring?
I realize, of course, that this is my fear talking. The same fear that says, "a daughter's a daughter for the rest of your life...a son's a son 'til..." well, you know the rest. I love my son and, at the same time, I know that he's the one most likely to break my heart. Not because I think he'll be a terrible person, but because we'll never quite understand what makes the other one tick.
And that makes moments like this all the more precious.
Thanks to my friend Maricel for taking the pic this morning. I tried to take a pic of him sleeping, but I just couldn't get the light right.