Parenting? Help me Lord!
Parenting? Help me Lord!
Parenting? Me? I don’t think so! I never really saw myself as the “Mommy” type and still to this day… If I see a woman with a baby… I run the other way. The last thing I want to do is hold someone’s smelly baby and act all ain’t it cute. On the other hand, my younger Sister, who has never had children of her own, is a natural born Mother. She has been Mom to all her friend’s kids and I know for certain I would not have survived those first six weeks of Mommyhood without her.
So how did this self professed kid avoider end up being Mom to the World’s greatest kid? Yes, I know the whole “birds and the bees” and how to make a baby and yes, I’ll admit I had lots of practice at that whole “birds and bees” thing but that’s another story. Back to how I became a Mommy.
The Doctor had told me years before that I wouldn’t be able to carry a baby to full term and numerous miscarriages seem to prove him right. But, since I was not that interested in having any babies, I happily went on with my miserable unhappy married life. That is, until the seventh year of my unhappy marriage and right at the point where I had finally decided “enough is enough..I’m out of here”, that’s when it happened.
This time was different. I knew from the beginning that I was going to have this baby and I was terrified. How could someone so totally inept possibly be responsible for another life? Nine months of total bed rest led to 80 pounds of pure blubber permanently attached to my bottom, hips and stomach but also provided 8 pounds of pure joy permanently ingrained in my heart.
I made every mistake imaginable but my son continued to thrive nonetheless. Projectile vomiting seemed to be the norm and slimy diapers nearly caused me to join in the vomitfest, but we survived. My ex-husband traveled constantly and was rarely home, so Billy and me became a constant duo. Concerned citizens of all types offered their constant advice and critiques of my poor parenting techniques but still we managed to make it through the toddler years with laughter.
1999 rang in the “horrible year of doom and tragedy” as we like to call it. My son started the year at 7 years old learning all about divorce, followed by let’s sell everything and move to Montana. Meaning he not only was leaving his Dad, but his school, his friends, his home and even his dog. We followed that adventure up only two months later with, “we’re moving to Alabama to take care of your sick Grandpa” which ended with learning all about death. Billy firmly believes his Grandpa is busy mowing lawns in heaven. To round out 1999, Billy got to learn about bullies for the first time in his new school, deal with his Dad’s remarriage and then 2nd divorce from the evil step-mother and learn the meaning of forgiveness all in a single year.
The new millennium brought us back to Virgina and the comfort of our big home. Life finally started to get back to a comfortable lull and we discovered that our “rough” year had actually brought us closer together and closer to God.
Friends keep warning me that the teen years will “rip our relationship apart”, but Billy’s 17 and we haven’t been ripped yet, so I can only pray that he continues to forgive my many mistakes, loves me even though I failed “mommy school” (home economics in school) three times, can’t cook, sew, and constantly do things to embarrass him. And I love him even though he is “Weird”.