I was never one of those little girls who just dreamed of growing up, getting married and having a baby. Not me. While I loved playing with my dolls, from the age of about 4, all I ever wanted to do was dance.... well, that, and a lot of other artistic things.
I never earned money as a teenager, babysitting other people's kids....no interest. No cooing and giggling over every newborn baby that I saw. Pregnancy and child rearing just did not figure into my dream of a career on the stage.
The professional dance career didn't work out, but I did manage to stall off marriage until I was almost 35. And by then, with the biological clock ticking, I figured I had better bite the bullet, take what felt like a very big leap and become a mother. Once the decision was made, though, I was totally committed and happily (though nervously) anticipated the coming event. My husband and I knew we were having a boy, had chosen a name, and I spent a good deal of time and artistic energy inventing his room, choosing his clothes and toys, singing to him in my belly, in the bathtub (yes, I knew he could hear me and "The Way We Were" was my go-to song). I was already very invested in this kid.
But nothing could have prepared me for the fact that this little creature (and his grownup counterpart) would, from that day forward, be the love of my life. From the moment he came into this world, I felt that being his mother was my mission here on earth, and my greatest blessing. I was infatuated with him -- the way he looked, the way he smelled, the weight of him in my arms, the soft down I felt, rubbing my lips over the top of his head. He didn't have that beautiful "Gerber" baby face; and I loved him even more for it. His face had character; he seemed wise.
When I say he was an easy baby, an easy child, I'm not in the least exaggerating. He slept through the night; he rarely cried; his disposition was sweet; he was kind and empathetic to other children. He was quite verbal at an early age, could converse on topics that were beyond his years, and we had (and do have) quite an exceptional relationship. I'm not saying he was perfect; no one is. But he WAS perfect for me. I never had another child; to be honest, I never wanted one. My marriage ended -- that didn't change much for me, because I had him. He was (is) my best friend. When it was time for him to grow up and move away (not that far, for which I'm grateful), I was ok because we are so firmly bonded. He now has kids of his own and is the sweet-tempered, kind and loving father I knew he would grow up to be. I have two grandsons, and each moment spent with them all, is an exquisite gift. What a sweet surprise it has all turned out to be!
— DMRS
I never earned money as a teenager, babysitting other people's kids....no interest. No cooing and giggling over every newborn baby that I saw. Pregnancy and child rearing just did not figure into my dream of a career on the stage.
The professional dance career didn't work out, but I did manage to stall off marriage until I was almost 35. And by then, with the biological clock ticking, I figured I had better bite the bullet, take what felt like a very big leap and become a mother. Once the decision was made, though, I was totally committed and happily (though nervously) anticipated the coming event. My husband and I knew we were having a boy, had chosen a name, and I spent a good deal of time and artistic energy inventing his room, choosing his clothes and toys, singing to him in my belly, in the bathtub (yes, I knew he could hear me and "The Way We Were" was my go-to song). I was already very invested in this kid.
But nothing could have prepared me for the fact that this little creature (and his grownup counterpart) would, from that day forward, be the love of my life. From the moment he came into this world, I felt that being his mother was my mission here on earth, and my greatest blessing. I was infatuated with him -- the way he looked, the way he smelled, the weight of him in my arms, the soft down I felt, rubbing my lips over the top of his head. He didn't have that beautiful "Gerber" baby face; and I loved him even more for it. His face had character; he seemed wise.
When I say he was an easy baby, an easy child, I'm not in the least exaggerating. He slept through the night; he rarely cried; his disposition was sweet; he was kind and empathetic to other children. He was quite verbal at an early age, could converse on topics that were beyond his years, and we had (and do have) quite an exceptional relationship. I'm not saying he was perfect; no one is. But he WAS perfect for me. I never had another child; to be honest, I never wanted one. My marriage ended -- that didn't change much for me, because I had him. He was (is) my best friend. When it was time for him to grow up and move away (not that far, for which I'm grateful), I was ok because we are so firmly bonded. He now has kids of his own and is the sweet-tempered, kind and loving father I knew he would grow up to be. I have two grandsons, and each moment spent with them all, is an exquisite gift. What a sweet surprise it has all turned out to be!
— DMRS
So lovely! I am so glad for you!
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