Over the years I have come to grips with the fact that I am getting older and am slowly learning to embrace my husband's philosophy that "only the lucky have birthdays." He's right. At a time when many my age (52, there I said it) are grandmothers I am blessed with a second round of motherhood. Twelve year old Meg definitely keeps me young at heart and for that, I am so grateful. So while I can trick my mind into believing that I'm in my thirties, my son's birthdays force me back to reality, at least for a little while. Last week Jay turned 31. Wow. It is still so hard for me to comprehend.
I "text hounded" (my new term) him all day for a photo. Forget that he was busy working a twelve hour shift at his new job. I'm his mom and I want a birthday photo! For some illogical reason, he ignored me. Later that evening however he did oblige me with this....
Ok, I deserved it. But naturally, it only made me text hound him more. He finally relented and sent me this...
I take great pride in the fact that he's happy and doing well. It makes me feel like I did my job as a parent and can only hope the same for my daughter. What I can't figure out though is how a thirty-five year old woman could have a thirty-one year old son. It must be that fuzzy math thing.
2 comments:
Definitely fuzzy math, but I'm totally with you!
You're young at heart, and that's what counts!
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