A mom and son -- the bond

     One of the four happiest days of my life was Jan. 14, 1988 -- the day I gave birth to my first child -- my only son.  I remember so clearly how excited Jeff and I were -- how excited I was to tell Jeff -- that we were pregnant.  We celebrated that night with an after-work dinner at the Village Steak House (now home to Stockholders).  Not much of a milk drinker, I set aside my prefence for diet soda or seltzer water and ordered a glass of milk with my salad bar dinner.  I had a life growing inside me and would do everything I could to make sure it had a healthy stay.  At dinner we talked about what we wanted -- boy or girl -- but both of us just wanted a happy, healthy baby who would grow up with a sense of humor!

 I loved being pregnant, and with the exception of constant heartburn, I never felt sick and had a fairly easy time carrying around this little being inside me.  Even giving  birth to him wasn't that difficult.  My water broke at 6 a.m., and by 6 p.m. we were driving into the hospital in a snow storm with me in mild labor.  Nearly six hours later, with no pain meds and four hours of intense labor, my little gift from God -- Matthew William -- was born. Jeff liked the name for the good, rugged nickname.  To everyone but me he became Matt.  To me he's always been Matthew.  His grandpa called him Mattie (or abercrombe, but that's another story).  The William did double duty, honoring his dad's middle name and the uncle who would be his Godfather.
   

In the 28 years of being his mom, I learned some things about me, and about being a mom to a son.  I never thought it possible to love an adorable, spitty baby; a stuck-in-his-ways boy; an argumentative adolescent; a messy, know-it-all teen; a sometimes-reckless college student; a caring, independent man -- so much.  I never realized how much I needed him; how much I could depend on him if I allowed myself to; and how hard it would be to gradually let go as he attaches to his future.
     I nurtured him, read to him, held him and encouraged him.  I guided him through the loss of his dad at 13.  I taught him to shave with his dad's razor at 15.  I cheered him on in hockey, soccer, and life.

I scolded him when the stupid teenager took over and I tried to instill lessons from that stupidity that would make him a respectable man.  I gave him room to spread his wings, and helped to soften the landing when he fell.  I taught him how to treat a woman, and hugged him tight when the relationship failed.
     Through it all, he has always been there for me, too.  Even in jr. high or high school, he never shied away from hugging me in public or in front of his friends.  He's grown up to be an amazing young man of whom his father would be so proud.
     There's a special bond between a mom and son.  It's not stronger than that between a mom and daughter, or father and daughter -- just different.   The more independent he has grown through life, the more blessed I am knowing that bond is there forever.  My son has never been too cool to love his mom, and for that, I'm grateful. Happy Birthday to my boy!