My oldest son, Nathan, turned 35(!) yesterday, a St. Patrick's Day baby who happens to have green eyes. There was so much joy when he was born. We hoped our first child would be a boy and here he was, safe and sound and beautiful and perfect; of course he was the cutest baby to ever hit earth, and from the very start I felt closely bonded. I remember how rough he was when he rolled around and kicked within me, and I could have sworn he was purposely trying to break my ribs to break out of his cage. My life has never been the same since his birth, and my body has never been the same since that pregnancy.
And now, at 35, Nathan's personality seems as strong as I felt it was when I was pregnant with him. When he was little he'd throw fits and fall in them (and still does :-), and I had to be a very attentive mom to keep up with my little imp. He was a happy little guy, usually smiling, and typically with a mischievous glint in his eye. He made me smile, and even as a teenager I loved it that he liked spending time talking and going on rides with me.
When Nathan was about six weeks old I kneeled beside him as he laid on our bed, talking to him as he watched me, intently. I sang and used lots of high and low tones in my voice, for about 20 minutes, trying to get him to coo back to me. He suddenly laughed, and he laughed and laughed; it was incredibly rewarding and very delightful.
As the young, foolish parent that I was, I assumed that my children would always be well-behaved and not do certain things that those other children did, like throw tantrums, or pick his nose, etc. Nathan would never scream in the grocery store; nope, not MY angelic child. The first 100 times Nathan threw a temper tantrum in the middle of the store, I blamed it on lack of sleep, or that he was hungry. On the umpteenth time this happened, I carried him out to the car, calmly opened the door, purposely placed him inside, locked the door, and walked back inside the store to finish my shopping. If that happened nowadays the police, the fire department, Child Protective Services, the ambulance, and maybe even the president of the United States would intervene and I would be chopped up into tiny little pieces, swallowed, spit out, and thrown into prison for 100 years. Needless to say, though, Nathan never threw a tantrum in a store again! Believe me, I would never handle that situation like this in today's world, and especially not in hot Arizona, but it was quite effective for my quick-to-learn, little boy.
To this day, Nathan still gets this well-known impish look on his face, and then wonders where Natalee gets hers- ha! I remember having to muffle many laughs because of his impish tactics. He's been a loyal, true-blue son, and his sincere expressions of love and devotion have made a usually thankless job all better and brighten my spirits.We've had our ups, downs, tiffs and tats, but we can usually gravitate towards a one-on-one place, see beyond each other's faults, and talk through it.
Nathan has a beautiful little family. Four darling little girls that are as feminine as feminine can be. He and Cindy are going to have loads of fun once my 4 beautiful granddaughters turn into teenagers. Ashlynn is growing up so fast, and is my oldest grandchild at 10 years old. Ellyce was recently baptized; Jillian is a a talker, and is now a little taller than Ellyce; then there's spunky little Natalee. :-)
Happy birthday, my son. I don't know that you will ever see this post, but, I love you more than you will ever know .... and YES, I DID, go to every soccer, baseball, basketball, and flag football game you ever played in (except for the ones out of town) even though you don't remember! :'(
Love, Mom
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