Lucky Thirteen

The Wee turned thirteen yesterday. Thirteen. My son, the teenager. I try and recall what I was like at thirteen and I don't think I was as nice as he is, but maybe that is a guy thing? He seems to be far more tolerant of his parental units than I was of mine at that age. Or perhaps any age? (Sorry Mom and Dad! Off topic but I believe this to be true because just yesterday my mother informed me that there is no way they are staying a week at my house in May when they come to visit so she booked a condo for a third week after finding out that's what it would have meant the way reservations stood. Hah! My own mother! I cant possible be THAT much of a bitch to live with, can I? (As an aside, yes, I can. And am, I think, mostly. Even though I try (I really do try hard)not to be. But just the same, my Mom didn't mean it like that, honest. You don't have to worry about me or anything, I am still the spoiled rotten, over-indulged brat (see included photo below of the lengths my family will go to for me as previously mentioned in a different post) with parents who love me as I have always been. I just have to make her look bad for sympathies sake.) (And I use way too many parentheses.)


My sister Katydid, cleaning my house. really well. Yes, those would be twelve foot ceilings.

Wow, talk about ADD. Let me try and focus here. Ah yes, The Wee-man. A teenager. At times I would rather stab myself in the eye with an icepick than contemplate what the next years should bring me, if he chooses to follow in my footsteps. Dear Lord help me. My parents warned me that revenge would be theirs one day. Suffice it to say that I am awaiting the hammer to fall in that regard because thus far, I am blessed. He is a really NICE kid. A good kid. An honor roll kid who causes us no grief whatsoever. He is mostly good-natured and fun and funny and bright. He seems to have really come into his own this past year and I am constantly amazed by his personality and wit. He is an individual who doesn't follow the pack but instead marches to his own beat. He is a champion for the underdog and doesn't take crap from anyone. He believes in kindness and fairness and it is inherently obvious in his actions and attitudes.

No, he does not walk on water.

He can be a total shit when it suits him. He has to be told thirty times to clean his room. We have to inspect to make sure he does so properly and isn't hiding a place-setting for four of dirty dishes under his bed. He farts, burps, is stinky and probably picks his nose; but at least has the good sense to do so in private. He is infatuated with girls and has informed me that he likes his boobs with gravy. And he -really- likes boobs, if I judge by the content of posters in his bedroom.

He brought true meaning to my life at a time when I was searching in all the wrong places for direction. I credit my pregnancy and his birth for possibly saving my life. Most certainly for saving my parents grief. His impending birth set me back on the straight and narrow and made me get my act together.

Thirteen years ago yesterday I was in the delivery room with my baby sister, who stayed by my side endlessly, without complaint; for 16 hours until the Wee made his appearance.

At 10:29pm 08/23/93, my son came into the world weighing 8lbs 3oz and measuring 24.5" long. Yesterday, my baby greeted the world weighing 171lbs and measuring 5'8.5" tall. He looked down at me and said "Good morning Mommy, I love you." and my heart filled to bursting, as much as it did the first time I laid my eyes on him. I wished him a happy birthday and held him close, unwilling to ever let him go.

Then he farted and I ran into the next room to get away from him as he laughed at me.

We did not do anything to celebrate the kids birthday over the weekend as he wanted to wait until this coming weekend and go to medieval times for dinner and possibly to see a movie. Or else Sea World, which is better bang for his buck because as FL residents we pay once and go all year. So, I left it to him and he can decide and get back to me.

In other news, I realized how old and married I am when laying in bed on Saturday night at 9:30pm and it occured to me that the Leester and I were watching concrete dry on TV. Literally. Damn discovery channel. I turned over and when to sleep after announcing to the hubs that I could justify a lot of things, but watching concrete dry was just not one of them and he told me it was interesting.

No fear of any more procreation here, I tell ya. I almost punched him in the neck.