We are sitting here sharing a piece of birthday cake. It's good. It's chocolate and pudding-y and sweet and it was exactly what my boy wanted for his birthday party (which was a few days ago.) An epic rager that had hot husband and I clorox wiping most of the house well into Saturday night and I'm sure I'll be finding Playdoh chips meshed with carpet fibers till I'm 70. I'm exhausted and leaden and kind of out of it today (his actual birthday) but every time he enters the room and one of us says "happy birthday! to him, he says: "fank you!" and I get a little bit lighter
And the cake! It had humpback whales on it. Whales that were sculpted from modeling chocolate and meticulously carved. He loved it! Even though he couldn't blow out the candles or deal with 20 or so booming (off key) voices singing "Happy Birthday" to him, the cake won him back to the table and right now it has him deliciously smudged in pale blue icing and dark brown crumbs.
My son, Mr. Lincoln Anthony Sgueglia, has been born many times for me. The first time, when I found out there was a new little someone cooking in my belly. The second, the day he was came out of that belly and joined his air breathing family. The third, the day he was diagnosed. The fourth, the moment the grief subsided and I let go of the son I thought I was going to raise... and on and on and on and on and on. And this is how it goes, isn't it? We are spectators to our children's evolution, aren't we? Often active participants, but equally as often, nail-biting side-liners waiting to see what will happen next. And when SOMETHING HAPPENS I am there to receive the newly transformed being in front of me.
Do you know him, my son? My boy? He is spectacular. He gets mad at me and tells me "I can't love you mom". He makes up with me and says "Mom! I love you so much!". He calls his dad "My man!". He prefers soft pants to jeans, inside to outside, his grandpa to ANYONE, pasta to protein (except for eggs and hot dogs). He won't use nick-names. Lincoln will always call you "Christopher", "Penelope", "Adelaide"; there will be no shortcuts. He deals in absolutes. He has no ego. He loves big boys, dogs, sharks, whales, skittles, bubble baths and Toy Story. He doesn't like liquid medicine but he'll swallow pills.
The 7 year old guy I have living in my house right now may be my most favorite iteration of LINCOLN ANTHONY SGUEGLIA to date. He's sharp and sweet and very, very much in love with me. He is Christmas in July every day of the week and today, November 16th, 2015 I wish him a very, very, very, very, very happy birthday.
And the cake! It had humpback whales on it. Whales that were sculpted from modeling chocolate and meticulously carved. He loved it! Even though he couldn't blow out the candles or deal with 20 or so booming (off key) voices singing "Happy Birthday" to him, the cake won him back to the table and right now it has him deliciously smudged in pale blue icing and dark brown crumbs.
My son, Mr. Lincoln Anthony Sgueglia, has been born many times for me. The first time, when I found out there was a new little someone cooking in my belly. The second, the day he was came out of that belly and joined his air breathing family. The third, the day he was diagnosed. The fourth, the moment the grief subsided and I let go of the son I thought I was going to raise... and on and on and on and on and on. And this is how it goes, isn't it? We are spectators to our children's evolution, aren't we? Often active participants, but equally as often, nail-biting side-liners waiting to see what will happen next. And when SOMETHING HAPPENS I am there to receive the newly transformed being in front of me.
Do you know him, my son? My boy? He is spectacular. He gets mad at me and tells me "I can't love you mom". He makes up with me and says "Mom! I love you so much!". He calls his dad "My man!". He prefers soft pants to jeans, inside to outside, his grandpa to ANYONE, pasta to protein (except for eggs and hot dogs). He won't use nick-names. Lincoln will always call you "Christopher", "Penelope", "Adelaide"; there will be no shortcuts. He deals in absolutes. He has no ego. He loves big boys, dogs, sharks, whales, skittles, bubble baths and Toy Story. He doesn't like liquid medicine but he'll swallow pills.
The 7 year old guy I have living in my house right now may be my most favorite iteration of LINCOLN ANTHONY SGUEGLIA to date. He's sharp and sweet and very, very much in love with me. He is Christmas in July every day of the week and today, November 16th, 2015 I wish him a very, very, very, very, very happy birthday.
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