1977 was a big year for me. I gave birth to a big, beautiful baby boy – all 8 lbs. 13 oz. I must have gained 80 pounds during my pregnancy because you could see me hit the corner 5 minutes before the rest of my body caught up. After delivery, the doctor said my son’s shoulders were so wide he thought I was giving birth to a Dallas Cowboy linebacker. (That’s probably why my son would later be nicknamed “Refrigerator” when he played soccer and football.)
The sun rose and set in my son (and still does). I wanted to be Super Mom to him, providing all his needs, and trying to make up for life’s failings, too. So my parenting skills had room for improvement. It took me years to figure out why I do what I do and correct myself.
As I mature (both in age and, hopefully, in wisdom), I’ve had a lot of time to reflect upon, learning about me, about life, and managed to do some growing up. Funny, that learning and growing stuff never seems to stop (and I’m still working on the correction stuff).
Tagged: parenting
