Sixteen years

Sixteen years ago today I had spent about 48 hours with no sleep due to the fact that 38 of those hours were spent trying to expel a 7 1/2 pound baby out of a space simply not meant for that kind of action. On this day all those years ago I had my wee baby boy in my arms and thought to myself, “Crap, what the hell am I supposed to do now? Where is the manual for this thing?” And so the events of my misguided motherhood adventure began. In all honesty, those hours were the turning point in my life. I had never given parenting a single thought until I found myself still in college and seriously pregnant. And even then it wasn’t truly real until I was drying off from a shower one night and found myself peeing down my leg, except it was really my waters. And then? Holy fuck! I realized I had to get a baby out of my body. And no matter how it happened it wasn’t going to be pretty. And it wasn’t. It was grueling, touch and go at one point and fucking scary. But at the end when the nurses put him in my arms I was gripped with the most powerful feeling of earnestness I had ever had, to him I said, “No matter what happens to us I will always take care of you. You are the light in my soul.” He was and still is. There are two more of them now and they too are lights in my soul. But he was the first. The first reason to wake up in the mornings and attempt to be a better person because he existed and was the essence of beauty. He is my Loren. My Lo-Lo. Little Lou. Lorenzo. I am blessed with his otter soul and not a day goes by, even with the current teen drama, when I don’t give thanks for him. Happy Birthday, Lo! I love you to the end of it all!