a hippy chick

I know this is slightly sick, but I always thought my offspring would be introverted, nerdy, musical, and fat.  Like me.  Definitely like Mr. A (except for the fat part…although he’s about to surpass me in weight right now.  Don’t tell him I told you, other woman.)

The fat thing went out the window-to my great relief-the moment lil pill was born at a healthy 8 lbs 15 oz.  The nurse (eyeing my just-ripped open mildly bloated fat even for a pregnant person body) said she’d never seen a baby so overdue that still weighed 8 pounds.   By 8 wks, lil pill was firmly in the bottom 5% of growth charts, where he’s comfortably stayed ever since.  Cross fat off my  hopes and dreams list.

I was sure I was right about the musical part, because everytime I sang to him, lil pill would put his hand lovingly on my lips.  I would smile, and soak up the wonderful breastfeeding bonding hormones, and keep singing. In this picture he’s about 7 months old and clearly trying to smother me and/or find help to do so.

 I continued singing until one day when he was-oh-about 18 months, and he told me to “shush”.  I made him repeat it several times, because I just couldn’t imagine that lil pill wouldn’t want to hear my dulcet tones.  I sing all the time, write music as a hobby, majored in piano and vocal performance.   Um, no.  Lil pill has a thing for classic rock.  If you aren’t singing ACDC or Aerosmith, he has no interest in listening.  He can carry a tune, thank Jesus, but somehow it loses a bit of the nostalgic appeal I imagined long ago, when we gather around the piano to “Dude looks like a lady”.

Now it turns out the kid isn’t even an introvert—something I held on to for a very, very long time, but which was probably just stunted social development from staying at home with me for three years.  After 6 months of preschool, pill will walk up to anyone and say anything.  Sometimes really embarrassing anythings, but that’s just a learning opportunity, right?  The fun really starts when he walks into his class, and the kids flock to my kid, cocky in his light up spiderman shoes and power ranger sunglasses (worn no matter the weather).

Today I put 13 invitations to his 4th birthday in the respective cubbies.  By 5, I’d gotten 10 RSVP’s.  And not just any normal RSVP’s.  “Oh, Taylor is so excited! He just loves little pill!”  “You know, Jeremy only goes 2 days a week, but little pill is one of the kids he really knows well and he cannot wait!”  It started so innocently, but suddenly I’m flashing to birthdays in which I have to be Martha Stewart meets Steven Tyler in order to give my cool kid a cool birthday.  As of this morning I was going to relax after this weekend.  Tonight, I’m—I mean HE’S invited to three parties and an afternoon tea for ladies and gentlemen, whatever the holy crap that is.

I don’t think I’ll worry about whatever I was worried about with pill and his emotional health.  Pretty sure he’ll find a way to prove me wrong about everything and then go on to be wildly successful at something I can’t even imagine.

Don’t that beat all?