26 years ago I became a Mom. I was 19 years old and had no idea what the fuck I was doing. Someone had given us a crib but I figured out day one that getting a baby to sleep in a crib is hard/impossible so I made him a suffocation chamber in a laundry basket.
How he made it to 26, I’ll never know.
There’s not a lot I remember about the early years other than this overwhelming sense of love-driven responsibility. It was weird to feel compelled to take care of another living being because I loved them so much. I very vividly remember the feelings of loving him so much it hurt because we were poor and unprepared. If my Dad hadn’t agreed to pay our rent for us while we were in college, I’m certain I would have never been able to elevate our status at all.
Sometimes I feel guilty that he got the short end of the stick with me as a parent because I had to learn how to do stuff as I was doing it and I didn’t have google at my fingertips to help me. But man…even though we had dollar store Christmases and never had new clothes…I loved my life with him. He gave me purpose. He gave me unconditional love. Just being his Mom helped heal wounds that I didn’t even know I had.
I’m so proud of the adult he has become in spite of being born to a young and clueless Mom. He gifted me a large spa gift certificate for Christmas. And it’s not just that the gift itself was generous, but it was the thought behind it. He knows how much I need a break in life. He often offers me coffee in the morning and lets me sit on his couch and whine about things. He is just so kind and understanding and that just makes me proud beyond words.
Watching him manage conflict and challenges inspires me to do better in my own life. Watching him follow his interests whole-heartedly makes me want to dive into mine. He inspires me to be more creative and more dedicated. I’m just beyond blessed to be his Mom.
Happy Birthday, LilZ.