With the grim news stories, I feel the need to hold my son a little closer than usual. He is an obstinate 13-year-old, aggressive in-line skater, rap listening, pant-sagging, soccer, baseball, trombone playing, great kid, going through a challenging time. And I love him all the more for it. I never wished to be a mother. Never thought I would be a good parent, but it just happened ... at 35. And so my new life began the moment I held him in my arms. Fortunately, I like rap music and just ask that he clean his room once a month.
Tonight while he and I were running through IKEA for his new bedroom look and some furniture ideas (he wants black walls, I say no, but dark grey okay), he weighs himself on some scales -- and he weighs what I did when I met his father a mere 13 years ago. How can that be??? Please -- TIME, slow down.
Seattle Sketcher, in book form
3 hours ago