My Son

My first born turned 20 this week. Although he has legally been an adult for two years, being twenty years old seems like a real milestone into adulthood. When I look at him (and he came home from college to celebrate with the family this weekend), I see a fine young man. No - this is not a rant about how did time fly by so fast.

I've enjoyed all of these twenty years. Each stage of his development brought new wonder. I'm still amazed by the occasional remark or behavior. But, then I know I'm completely prejudiced - I'm his mother.

The day my son was born was truly the happiest day of my life - or at least the first such completely wonderful event. (The birth of my daughter two years later was also a awesome experience. But, this is not about her.) The initial days I spent caring for my son were so natural and perfect. Time seemed to stand still. I was on the baby's time schedule, not that of the world. There was nothing. . . but baby, daddy and me in our universe. I was filled with completeness and endless love.

I re-live that time again every September when my son's birthday comes around. I carry that feeling of peace and love forever in my heart. I recall it so well, it seems like a very short time ago.

I hope it always does.