My baby just left for her last ever first day of school. I think I am going to spend the day in bed. Mourning. With Oreo cookies.
I have three children. (Four if you count Bob. And most people do.)
Not only is this my last ever first day of school it’s also my last month ever to have a ‘child’ in the house. At the end of this month my youngest is turning eighteen. I know, you can say they are still children at this age but, if truth be told this one is probably more mature than me. And Bob.
God sent this one to teach me…the other two were answers to my mother’s mantra of “I hope you have a child just like you when you grow up.’ Yes, I am an over achiever, I had two. One male and one female so I could have a well rounded experience.
I didn’t plan on having three children. We had just made the decision NOT to have any more. Then one night I had a little too much wine and well, let this be a lesson to all of you, over indulgence in wine CAN get you pregnant.
I remember waking up later that same night, around three, and thinking, what is that twinge in my side?…wait…am I ovulating? Did we just…no, couldn’t happen. There’s no way I am pregnant. Enter the good Lord and His sense of humor.
Physically, I was made for having babies. But hormonally? I had girlfriends who, upon finding out I was pregnant the second time said they loved me, wished me luck and that they would call me after the birth. They were all on board when I told them we were stopping at two. I spent the first three months of this last pregnancy in the house, with the shades drawn, in my jammies, not showering and cursing the God that allowed this to happen. And plotting the murder of the man that participated. I even started writing a novel about a wife who killed her husband ‘accidentally’ but on purpose. And got off. Let me just say, he never came into the kitchen if I was using a knife.
Yes, I finally embraced this baby. The last months of pregnancy were a breeze and the delivery was so fast that the doctor was barefoot and I signed the papers allowing them to deliver her AFTER she was born, there was no time before. We arrived at the hospital at 10:36, she was born at 10:48.
And I adored her. She was my last ever baby. I used cloth diapers, I nursed for a year, I made homemade baby food, I did all the things I knew I would never get to do again.
But then she started developing her own little personality. She was not like the other two. If I was off even a half hour for her afternoon nap she would have a major melt down and destroy things. She did not like dresses. She did not like the matching hairbows, she was filthy dirty all the time, she played alone, she thrived on a schedule, she did not play with dolls, she liked bugs,. She looked like a ragamuffin all the time. And I adored her.
She has a firm belief in right and wrong. She follows the rules. She sticks to her guns. She is not swayed by peer pressure. She is confident. She does her homework without being asked. She makes the honor roll. She plays sports. She is looking forward to college. This one is nothing like me. And I adore her.
With the other two, I know what to expect. This one surprises me. This one makes me stay on top of my game. This one totally takes me out of my comfort zone. But I try, because I love her.
And so, on this last ever first day of school I am surprised once again because I never thought I’d be the mom that cried when her kids went off to school. And here I am, on the last ever first day, crying for the first ever time.
I can’t wait to see what this one does next.