After Cassidy was born, long time members would say things like, "See? Now do you understand?" And though I of course I was enamored with my new baby and completely overcome with love, it was exactly as I had imagined.
When I was a kid, I landed myself in the hospital something like 9 times before I was eleven years old. I put a paintbrush full of paint remover in my mouth sometime between my first and second year, prompting a stomach pump. I fell off a bar onto a the rusty bucket I stood on to get there when I was two, and got 2 stitches between my eye and nose. I ran into a book case, fell out of a tree, smashed my head on a radiator and got 50 stitches on my forehead and later, plastic surgery. And then, perhaps most dramatically, I got hit by a car when I was nine.
I've told these stories throughout my life over and over. I'd tell them the same way, detached and amused, adding that I must have put my mom through hell. Recently my sister in law was talking about the antics of her son when he was a kid, and I countered with the concussion I had when I got hit by the car.
"I'd always wanted to ride in an ambulance and I finally got to after I got hit by the car, only I had a concussion so bad I couldn't see. I didn't know where I was. I can remember saying Mommy! Mommy! Where are you Mommy, I can't see you!"
I looked at Cassidy in the room with me, flipping through her books, that sweet little face, and I started weeping.
"And... I... (sniff) And my mom was touching my face saying I'm right here, Colleen, I'm right here...."
Sob.
"I'm sorry. I've told this story so many times and I've never... wept... (sob) before ... (breath). I said But Mommy, I can't see you...." Full on tears down my face.
Oh. Um, that club. Maybe I didn't belong there yet.
The other day I got an e mail from a dear friend who has a daughter three weeks younger than Cassidy. We were trying to make a date to get together. Instead I read the story of how, turning for just a minute to get a hat, her daughter fell down a couple stairs and knocked her two front teeth out. "The blood," she wrote. "I nearly had a heart attack." And, "Those two little teeth she worked so hard for."
I started sobbing. That poor baby. More so, my poor friend!
So I get it now. The exclusive rights. You can't be in the club if you don't understand. And unless you're in the club, you truly don't understand. Until you have one of your own.
And I'm thinking now I might send my mother some flowers...
When I was a kid, I landed myself in the hospital something like 9 times before I was eleven years old. I put a paintbrush full of paint remover in my mouth sometime between my first and second year, prompting a stomach pump. I fell off a bar onto a the rusty bucket I stood on to get there when I was two, and got 2 stitches between my eye and nose. I ran into a book case, fell out of a tree, smashed my head on a radiator and got 50 stitches on my forehead and later, plastic surgery. And then, perhaps most dramatically, I got hit by a car when I was nine.
I've told these stories throughout my life over and over. I'd tell them the same way, detached and amused, adding that I must have put my mom through hell. Recently my sister in law was talking about the antics of her son when he was a kid, and I countered with the concussion I had when I got hit by the car.
"I'd always wanted to ride in an ambulance and I finally got to after I got hit by the car, only I had a concussion so bad I couldn't see. I didn't know where I was. I can remember saying Mommy! Mommy! Where are you Mommy, I can't see you!"
I looked at Cassidy in the room with me, flipping through her books, that sweet little face, and I started weeping.
"And... I... (sniff) And my mom was touching my face saying I'm right here, Colleen, I'm right here...."
Sob.
"I'm sorry. I've told this story so many times and I've never... wept... (sob) before ... (breath). I said But Mommy, I can't see you...." Full on tears down my face.
Oh. Um, that club. Maybe I didn't belong there yet.
The other day I got an e mail from a dear friend who has a daughter three weeks younger than Cassidy. We were trying to make a date to get together. Instead I read the story of how, turning for just a minute to get a hat, her daughter fell down a couple stairs and knocked her two front teeth out. "The blood," she wrote. "I nearly had a heart attack." And, "Those two little teeth she worked so hard for."
I started sobbing. That poor baby. More so, my poor friend!
So I get it now. The exclusive rights. You can't be in the club if you don't understand. And unless you're in the club, you truly don't understand. Until you have one of your own.
And I'm thinking now I might send my mother some flowers...
There's hope for me! I get comments at 31 about being too old for kids. :P
ReplyDeleteNo!!!! You're not too old until you're body's too old!! I actually really love being an older mom... my physical body might protest that, but I take very little of my time spent with her for granted. You have PLENTY of time, believe me. I didn't even meet Chris until I was 37! xoxoxo (and thanks so much for following :) )
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