I’m the prettiest Mommy in the whole wide world.
Spider-Man told me.
He was three and a half. Sitting on the couch with a serious look on his face, he took his two little hands, placed them on my cheeks…and told me.
He has always had a way of putting me at ease. Of completely melting me.
Spider-Man was born on August 30th, 1:27pm. Sixteen years ago today.
I’ve thanked God for him, every day.
Six months before that I’d thought it was over. Rushed to the hospital by ambulance…a miscarriage…the emotional details of that day etched in my core.
It was hours after it all began that an ultrasound revealed I’d been carrying twins.
A few weeks of bed rest and agonizing months of being closely monitored…I lived each day with this feeling that at any moment…it all could end. Spider-Man’s arrival was as traumatic as the months that preceded it…gripped with fear and uncertainty until eventually, and finally, he’d arrived…perfectly healthy despite many concerns.
The uneasiness…has never fully left me. My need to protect him is inherent.
At times, I smother him.
There aren’t enough words to make him understand. Not enough ways to tell him to be careful. Not enough moments to tell him to be kind, to show patience, to have respect…to show love.
“What am I going to do with a sixteen year old,” I asked him the other day? “Same as you’ve been doing all along” was his response as he wrapped his arms around me and embraced me in one of his “it’s gonna be ok Mom” hugs. Then, without skipping a beat, he took his massive hands, placed them on either cheek and said “you’re doing a great job!”
But it feels different.
There’s a new set of worries and much like the six months I spent hoping and praying he’d be fine…I’m nervous about what lies ahead.
I have to trust that everything I’ve done to show him love and keep him safe will continue to protect him.
And there’s a wee small angel watching over him…who will do the same.