Being a Mom

Dear Sometimes-But-Not-Always-Elusive-Offspring,

So, now you are engaged. To a lovely girl we love as if she were our own. And someday you will have little EOs of your own.

When I was pregnant with you, I did not know whether you would be a boy or a girl. I couldn’t explain why, but I did not want to know. All I knew is that I was carrying a baby. My little miracle. And I loved you from the moment I knew you existed. I sang to you, and played the piano for you, and ate lobster for you (ok, that part was for me), and did everything I could do to make sure you were healthy.

I knew Dad wanted a boy (although he would have been happy with a girl), but at the time, I thought I wanted a girl. I believed I wouldn’t know what to do with a boy. I had heard so many stories about how boys were always getting hurt (breaking bones, getting into scraps, you know what I mean). How they were so messy. And they played with toy guns (it's true!). But I figured, having been a girl, I would know all about girls. So I made pretty little dresses in preparation.

Then you were born. A little “bundle of boy” as Dad called you. I’m not sure but that I may have had a momentary pang of … should I call it “disappointment” … at the knowledge that I was not to have my little girl after all. But if I had that feeling, it was nothing more than a fleeting pang, because I adored you totally and completely from the start. I cried when you were one day old, and then three days old and at various intervals thereafter, at first because you were no longer a physical part of me, but then because each day you were closer to leaving me. I cried because there was no Earthly way that anyone could ever love me nearly as much as I love you. I cried because I would have to go to work and leave you with a care taker. Without a second thought, I gave the little dresses I had made to a friend who had a little girl, and I went out to find the most adorable boy outfits to dress you in.

Every day brought new wonders for us all. I have such clear memories of those first three years: how you always ran to the door to meet us when we came home from work. I remember the silly faces you made. And “b’zim” was your word for anything that flew (bird, plane, butterfly, leaf). Even now, the cry of the “b’zim” bird always means spring is in the air. I remember picking up two water pistols one day and filling them up so that I could get out of the car with “pistols blazing” when you came to meet us after work one summer day (ok, moms sometimes play with toy guns, too). The Homeric battle that ensued, with you chasing me around outside the house with the big red water pistol, and me still in my business suit with the little blue one, will stay with me and make me smile forever. As will all those nights three-year-old-you made me play Patsy Cline’s “Crazy for Crying” and the Phantom of the Opera over and over when you went to bed.

I remember your first day of school, your trip to Poland, your disappointment when Hamid could not stay with us and how well you handled that. You were always a leader even in grade school. And such a clown: “Mom, what does a car do when it’s sleepy? It goes to the roadbed.” And yes, I do remember the bumps and bruises and the broken bones, the disappointments and the broken hearts (yours and others). I remember every Halloween costume you wore, every cardboard and tape creation you designed, every play I saw you in, every song I've heard you sing. Your accomplishments astound me, from your high grades, to your acting, your singing, your art, your achievement of Eagle Scout, Master’s Degree, PhD, physics as your chosen field…your kindness and sense of humor.

The hardest day of my life was the day we left you at school in Scotland and had to come home to the empty nest. But, of course, I know that is the way it should be.
I just want you to know that I am so glad that you turned out to be who you are. I love having my boy. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I hope that you and Hattie will experience the same feelings some day. Thank you for being my sometimes Elusive Offspring. I love you!