I gave birth to my first child, a son. At 6lbs 8 &1/2 ounces, W. screamed his way into the world at 3:18am. on May 27, 1998.
I remember 98% of my pregnancy and labor with him. ((But I think it’s like that with all 4 of my kids, actually)) He was born 100% naturally. No painkillers, nothing. ((In the last last *last* stages of labor, just minutes before he was born, I came to regret that choice. Even though, I opted to go that route with my last child, and it totally wasn’t as bad))
I raised W. alone, with the help of my parents, for the first three years of his life. ((Mike was there for his 3rd birthday, and every birthday since, as we got married in 2000))
I’ve since learned that boys are easier at a young age to deal with than girls, but as he gets older, he seems to drift further away from me, while my girls seem to get closer and closer.
Him and I have had our ups and downs, but it’s typical teenager shit. He thinks he’s right about everything, and I know he’s not. He’s also extremely independent, and I’m not used to that.
Instead of him watching Teletubbies, he’s playing basketball. Instead of sitting in the laundry pile when it comes right out of the dryer, he’s got a girlfriend.
He sometimes forgets that he’s not the only person in this house. He sometimes forgets that things the girls have to do are just as important as the things he has to do. He thinks that his sisters birthdays aren’t a big deal, and that he doesn’t even have to be around for it. ((“Why do I want to go hang around a bunch of little kids?”)) And on this past Mothers Day, he wasn’t even home, opting to go hang out with friends and play basketball instead.
But for those things, I guess I can only blame his age, because he’s a good kid. He’s a fantastic kid. And as he gets older, he will realize that the attitude that he has now was pretty petty. He’ll come around.
He’s a teenager. A typical, occasional shithead teenager.
((And by that phrase, he knows exactly what I mean. He’d know my tone of voice, and what I’d get back from him is “Mum, you goof”. So there.))
And I love him.
Happy Birthday, W.