After bearing two daughters with zero resemblance to me, despite enduring a combined total of 18 months of uncomfortable incubation and 29 hours of strenuous labor to bring them into the world, I finally bore a child who looks like he actually sprung from my loins.
I mean, put a 1985 permed mullet on my son’s head and we’re identical awkward thirteen-year-olds!
Yep, my Scotty turns 13 today.
I’m not ready.
He’s been such a sweetheart of a little boy, I’m not ready for the sarcastic gland to go into hyperdrive.
His voice changed a couple of months ago and that was weird enough. When he answers the phone I still think there’s a creeper in my house.
I have thoroughly enjoyed my boy’s childhood and I’m mourning the end of it today, and trying to prepare for the changes ahead.
There’s something special about the mother-son relationship.
I’m the woman in his life.
I have my own ways of taking care of my son—teaching him, feeding him, training him to do things my way in my household.
Someday, another woman will take care of my son her way.
I now understand my mother-in-law much much better.
No wonder I bug her.
Watching another woman take over my role will be hard. My son’s loyalty will be to her, as it should be. He’ll confide in her, snuggle with her (and other stuff—Eww!), snub her cooking, and completely ignore her nagging to pick up his clothes.
My relationship with my daughters is different because I’m not their provider, which is the role that will be replaced by a couple of clueless punks someday. That’s Jason’s emotional scuffle to contend with. When my girls have families, more than likely they’ll run their households and raise their families somewhat similar to how I have because that’s what they know. They’ll call me for recipes, ask for advice about how to soothe a colicky baby, and thank me repeatedly for all I the things I taught them they thought were useless, I hope. When I was young and prideful I swore I would never do things like my mother did, but I do—with my own added flair, of course.
My son will do things the way his wife says, if I’ve raised him right.
Until then, I’ll relish every moment I have to teach, snuggle, and nag my sweet boy.
In preparation for the great and terrible day of The Other Woman, I’ve taken a small step towards getting used to my son’s affection and attention being divided from me by giving him a special birthday gift today.
You see that cute little puppy in his arms?
Her name is Izzy.
She’ll sleep in the barn.