Number One Son just turned ten years old.
Ten years ago, we were living in a shabby tenament; afraid to put the baby down, I would hold him all day so the mice couldn't get near him. He was a long and skinny baby. Because it was cold and I could only afford to heat one room in the apartment, I had to keep him wrapped up in a cheap, pink hand-me-down blanket. All of his clothes then were cheap, pink hand-me-downs.
At this time ten years ago, I was still fighting to enroll in what could have been my last semester of college. I never succeeded in changing that one professor's mind, which resulted in tens of thousands of dollars in student loans just to pay daycare while that one semester became three. I was complaining bitterly about this the other day when paying bills, and Number One Son said, "Oh, yeah! I used to go to school with you. That's so cool," as if we were classmates. His grin made me grin back at him, and I started talking about the happy parts, like having a picnic at the science center and running through the fountains to cool off, or making hooting noises in the deep stacks of the main library to hear our voices echo.
He still brags to his friends that he attended Ye Olde Ivy League University when he was a baby. He also says he has an uncle in the MLB. Let's just say that he is very...creative.
And, get this: last night, I went grocery shopping in a last minute dash before the supermarket closed. Number One Son was supposed to go with me, but my husband was lying down with a headache. Nos offered to stay home instead and watch his baby brother until DH got up. I left and returned an hour later. When I opened the door, I see DH on one side of the livingroom wrapped up in a throw on the sofa, and Nos on the other side holding his sleeping brother on the loveseat. As I brought in the bags, DH just looked at me, blinking. Nos said, "Mothra [yeah, so he calls me Mothra; so what? I take it as a compliment], if you help me put my brother in his bed, I can help you get the rest of the groceries." Oh, my heart just broke. I told him that I appreciated his help, but that I had it under control. When I came back in the house, I saw that he had laid his brother down and was bringing bags to the kitchen and putting the food away. Can you imagine? I am so grateful that I get to be his Mom Mothra.
Alien has not called in almost a year and a half. Again, I am cool with this; let sleeping dogs lie and all that. Yet, I have found myself thinking about him this past month, and wondering if he even remembered his son's birthday anymore. If he doesn't, I am almost positive that his mother remembers. Every year, I order an 8x10 from the school pictures for her, even though she has no way of getting it at this point in time. I just file them away, figuring that she'll see them someday.
Happy, happy birthday, Number One Son. Live long and prosper.
Comments