Momma of a Boy

Over at Oh, The Joys on January 21, she discussed a friend of hers who is about to give birth to a bouncing baby boy and requested other hints and tips from her readers about raising boys. I have a few stories about that, and I hope she reads this and can get a little information out of them. At least, I hope they give her a chuckle.

My son was born the day they took the last piece of the World Trade Center down and carted it away - the day after Memorial Day, 2002. I wanted him to be marked for greatness, since he was born on a day of such significance. Although that day was marked by sadness, to me it was also marked with hope. Not only for the future of my child, but for the future of NYC and the country.

Conman was born a week early, which is generally no problem. He was born via C-Section, and had fluid on his lungs, a heart murmur, and a problem maintaining his blood sugar levels. The hospital he was born in didn't have a staff pediatrician, nor a nursery for "medical problem children", so when he was less than 24 hours old, he had an experience that I have still not had - he had a helicopter ride to transfer to another hospital four hours away where they could care for him.

Now, six years later, the boy is in fine shape - his heart murmur has corrected itself, his lungs are clear and he's rarely ill with respiratory infections, and his sugar levels are fine. He's a happy, healthy, intelligent little boy. He deserves a lot of credit for his intelligence; he strives to learn every day, asks questions and actually listens to the answers I give him, and is forever curious about the world around him.

That doesn't mean that the road to this point hasn't been curvy or bumpy - in fact, it's been both. We've had our problems with the boy, and DH and I have worked together and diligently to correct the problems. Sometimes it's been a problem with us, sometimes it's a problem with him - either way, though, we've been able to recognize the problem and work to correct the problem as a family.

My parents have been a huge help in this. Conman stays with them three or four nights a week simply because it is more convenient for his school. Although my views on child rearing and their views sometimes differ, they are often close enough to be consistent in our parenting. There have been, however, a few things that have happened that have really shaped his personality.

When Con was about two, my mother had him while I was at work. This particular day, she was maintaining her mother's (my grandmother's) gravesite in a cemetery, and had Conman with her. Nearby, a new grave had been dug in anticipation of a funeral (you can see where this is going, can't you...). Mom was diligently working on the gravestone while Con played nearby. She looked up to check on him, and didn't see him anywhere. She panicked, but luckily had enough composure to listen and see if he was somewhere unseen, calling for help. He most certainly was. He had fallen into the open grave. Luckily, the vault was already in the hole, and he didn't fall the full six feet; he only fell about four feet (which is bad enough) and landed on the vault. Mom found him, Spider Man action figure in hand, yelling, "Help, Mamaw, I fell in a pit!" As luck would have it, one of the maintenance men for the cemetery was nearby and helped her get him out of the hole. The cemetery where he fell in the grave is on the way to the supermarket, and every time we pass by, he says, "Hey, mom, that's where mamaw let me fall in the pit. That place right there."

He just now ran past me into his bedroom and said, "I need to get my sword!" and disappeared into his bedroom. He came out of his bedroom with his play-sword in hand and when he ran by me going back to the living room he cried, "A battle awaits!". That's normal activity around here.

I've said a time or two that I'm a writer, but I don't think I've mentioned exactly what it is that I write - well, it's fantasy. Think DragonLance, Lord of the Rings, things like that. We have, since the boy has been around, wanted to have him interested in that sort of thing - the world of fantasy, where your imagination can run wild and it's okay. Where you can escape and be a knight errant, or a mighty wizard, or a cunning rogue. Quite honestly, he's taken to it like a duck to water. We've used the love we have of all things fantasy to introduce him to classical literature and managed to forego the current "fads" in kid's lit. Yes, he still likes watching Thomas and Little Bear and all that stuff on TV, but when it comes to story time, he wants to hear about Peter Pan and the Three Billy Goats Gruff. It makes me proud to think that he's heading down the same road I am, and that he may one day surpass me.