My middle child and her daddy are very close. The moment this child emerged from the womb (her head, mind you, she wasn’t even fully delivered, sorry for the visual), she started wailing, and she continued to cry loudly through the delivery, while she was being assessed, weighed, and wrapped. She cried until the nurse handed her to my husband. He held her, looked into her eyes, said “hello” and she INSTANTLY stopped crying. Every head in the delivery room turned and looked – it was that dramatic. From that moment on, she has had her daddy wrapped around every single one of her fingers and toes.
Daddy walked that child on many nights to soothe her back to sleep. There was something about his voice that always calmed her. Of course, he had spent the entire pregnancy “talking” to her. He swore he would never do that again!
My middle child and her daddy when we visited NOLA in 2006 after Hurricane Katrina. She is his mini-me.
For the most part, I have been the disciplinarian, and daddy has soaked up on the gravy. Yes, she still calls him daddy. And she’s old enough to drink legally.
For Mother’s Day one year, the teacher had each student write a “recipe” for their mother. Included on my list of ingredients was “mean beans.” Ouch.
She will never live this down. I still have that little recipe tucked away somewhere.
It’s not always easy being a mother. I think mothers, more than fathers, get more grief from their children. Children just know how to push their mother’s buttons. Doesn’t matter, though. My middle child is coming home for the Thanksgiving holiday tonight, and I can’t wait to see her.
She was just elected President of her sorority, and she has accepted an internship for next summer that will keep her at home.
I cherish every moment with this child, and someday she may have her own children. Wonder what ingredients will be included on her child’s recipe for Mother’s Day?