To my son, on his first Mother's Day
Dear Child of Mine, I realize that I shall always be "old" to you, but I have a few truths I would like to point out today, on this, your first Mother's Day. When, in forty years, I can't hear you, it is not because I am old. It is because you've chosen to do so much of your wailing while only half an inch from my ear. My balding head won't be because I'm old, either. No, that would be because of the many times you used my hair to keep your balance or test your strength. Let's hope there is even enough hair still attached to my head that you can make it go gray. The way I will shuffle? No, that's not age, I promise you. That is merely a habit, picked up for self-preservation in order to avoid all of the toys, soggy Cheerios, and other precious paraphernalia of yours. And yes, come that day, tears may drift across my vision at the slightest provocation, but it won't be because of unpredictable female hormones or very predictable female emoti