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Saturday, May 5, 2012

My baby boy is 16 today

 It is amazing that the time as gone by so fast. Every day has 24 hours the same as always. The only way I can explain it is the  last 16 years my life has been very full. When I say I have 3 daughters and... a son I get these funny smiles from people. Some think I am crazy to have had 4 kids in 5 years, other have been asking me for year, "What were you thinking?"
   No response to that one. I have asked myself that very question on the sleepless night since they all became teenagers. When I see a mom stressed in the store with 4 little one I try to encourage them with, "Enjoy them when they are small." I enjoy them now, but I know I was too up-tight back then. It is easy to have hind-sight.
   Only time and God's grace can mellow a mother. So, now it is a week from Mother's Day and I am celebrating the birth of my "Cinco de Mayo baby boy." I have let him know that he will always be my "Baby Boy". Once in Ann Landers Column I saw this poem:
Dear First Born:
I've always loved you best because you were my miracle. You were the genesis of a marriage and the fulfilment of young love. You sustained me through the hamburger years, the first apartment (furnished in Early Poverty), and my first mode of transportation (feet).

You were new, had unused grandparents, and enough clothes for a set of triplets. You were the original model for a mom who was trying to work the bugs out. You got the strained lamb, the open safety pins and three-hour naps.
You were the beginning.
Dear Middle Child:

I've always loved you best because you drew a tough spot in the family, and it made you stronger for it. You cried less, had more patience, wore faded hand-me-downs, and never in your life did you get anything first. But it only made you special.
You were the one I relaxed with, and realized a dog could kiss you and you wouldn't get sick. You could cross the street by yourself long before you were old enough to get married . . . and you helped me understand the world wouldn't collapse if you went to bed with dirty feet.

You were the child of my busy, ambitious years, and without you, I would not have survived the job changes and the tedium and routine that is marriage.
To The Baby:

I've always loved you best because while endings are generally sad, you are such a joy.

You readily accepted the milk-stained bibs, the lower bunk, the cracked baseball bat, the baby book that had nothing written in it except a recipe for graham-cracker pie crust that someone had jammed between the pages. You are the one I held onto so tightly. You are the link with my past, a reason for tomorrow.

You darken my hair, quicken my steps, square my shoulders, restore my vision, and give me a sense of humour that security, maturity, and durability can't provide. When your hairline takes on the shape of Lake Erie and your own children tower over you, you will still be my baby.
. . . from a mother . . .

- Author Unknown -

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