This morning I had some one on one time with my son. I took him to a dentist appointment. We were exiting the van in the parking lot when I heard a sound that I've heard before. It's the sound of plastic slapping back on plastic. What happened you ask? I looked over at my son as he made his way toward me between the parked cars. He was giggling and rubbing his upper arm. I knew immediately what had just occurred.
Me: Are you ok?
Him: Yes. (giggle, giggle, snort)
Me: What happened? (already knowing)
Him: Mom, I just smacked into the mirror on that car... I'm just glad it didn't come off!
Me: Did you hurt yourself? (now giggling as well)
Him: No. My arm just hurts a little. Mom?
Him: I bet you've done that before, am I right?
Me: What would ever make you think that? (smiling)
Him: Well, you know how you have bruises in weird places? I bet it's from doing stuff like that.
Me: You know me well.
Him: I am your son.
This is true. He is my son. And although he was born to another mother on the other side of this earth, he, luckily, has been blessed with my uncanny ability to hurt myself in rather odd ways. I am so proud. And as stupid as that sounds, I actually am oddly happy about that. I certainly don't want him to have to explain to his friends or co-workers one day in the future about how he's missing half of his eyebrow (from an unfortunate incident with a gas grill) - or how in the world did he ever cut his nose on his jacket zipper (don't ask). I'm just saying I'm glad we have a common bond - one that builds character. And that, my friends, is one of the pure and simple reasons I love being a mom - I can pass on these indelible traits of honor without even trying. I can see my work here is done