We compliment one another – he is the perfect size, a perfect fit.  Blonde hair that is the right amount messy, without being raggedy, most days anyway!  Blue-green eyes that are ringed with gold, the color of the sea before the sun dips beneath the horizon.  A surfer’s physique with long sturdy legs. Muscled arms, and a torso with, well, a four pack.  An unbeatable sense of humor, uproariously funny even when he doesn’t intend to be.  He is completely unafraid to express himself,nor has any qualms about what people may think of him.  A phenomenal snuggler, his arms wrapped around my neck, nuzzling my ear, peppering me with kisses… I trust him implicitly.  I know he will never stray in his love for me.  He is always there, right where and when I need him.  Always.  

He is five.  He is Milo, and he is my son.

Before Milo I was convinced that I had traversed and trampled down every road and through every experience that life could present.  I had conquered tragedies.  I had seen and done things most people would rather not see and definitely not do.  There were no surprises left, nothing I couldn’t handle, no curveballs God nor any supreme being could toss in my direction.  Until I became a mother.  I have come to believe that absolutely nothing prepares one for that, only the act there of.

Due to my self-induced reckless lifestyle of many years my body had suffered major setbacks and my mental state of mind was severely damaged.  I was a broken soul.  One of the physical repercussions was that my body hadn’t functioned properly in the reproduction department for over 5 years.  I had solemnly accepted my fate.  I would never be able to have a child, a payback of sorts from my past.  Somehow, I was mistaken and whoever it is that is in charge of miracles bestowed upon me the most miraculous gift of all.  Numerous home pregnancy tests revealed the unbelievable and I was floored.  There wasn’t time to waste vacillating on a decision.  I was 36 years old and I knew, at the very core of my being, that this was going to be my only chance, a one time offer so to speak.  Being clean and sober was healing my broken soul to an extent, but I felt having a child and being a mother would help complete a circle which up until then had been a bit distorted, distended.  I wanted to be an active member of the continuous, divine loop of motherhood.

 

Every single day of my pregnancy I was a paranoid freak.  I refused to indulge in reading any birthing books…What to Expect When Your Expecting, yeah right?!  Any slight chance of this or that happening I was convinced would happen to me and my child.  I had acquired a warped belief system of what could go wrong most definitely would.  I had horrific dreams and visions of extreme deformities and rare incurable diseases.  My past had done wonders on my lack of faith and my absurd penchant for morbid reflection.  In the card game of life I knew I hadn’t played fairly – I had lied, I had cheated.  On some level I felt I was owed a crappy deal.

 

Once again, I am shown proof that my thinking leads me down dead-end roads.  I am hard-headed, belligerent even.  My thinking couldn’t help me find my way out of a paper bag.  Leave it to the child.  My way out of the bag was Milo.  I never would have believed such a small person could have such a stupendous impact!  On the eve of each of his birthdays I write him a thank you letter because, really, this is quite a large undertaking for such a little dude!

 

Pre Milo I believed my head space was full to capacity.  I had a committee of thousands chattering in my brain at all times, it was deafening up there.  A million different personalities were bickering as to who would get to do what, when and where.

 

Milo appears on the scene.  A child is able to bring my personal madness to a halt.  I thought being a punk rocker had made me question authority; go past the usual accepted beliefs, the standard.  Milo makes my brain stretch even further…

 

“Why is fire hot?”

 

“Why are girls called ladies?”

 

“If we ate dinner for breakfast would it be darktime early?”

 

“Why do we have to wear shoes?”

 

These are the thoughts that occupy my head space now.  They are real thoughts and questions worth asking.  Milo has successfully nudged my train off its circuitous track onto his.  What I appreciate about Milo’s track is that it is constantly moving forward.  Granted his track has bumps along the way and he stops for extended periods of time.  During these stops on the train I’m looking out the window, bitching, “why aren’t we moving?”  We’re not moving because Milo is looking at a spider on a rock, next to the track.  Looking and being and breathing.  Milo reminds me to see the spiders and to breathe.

 

Until Milo’s arrival I’d forgotten that I was a child once too.  Now we delight in pawing through my memories like puppies casting aside the mundane ones and reveling in the hilarious.  How awesome that at the age of 42 I can sport Dad’s work boots with boxers, a cape, a dinosaur nose, a knight helmet and someone thinks I am fabulous.  How often does one get a visit at work from a four-foot guy in a polyester Spiderman suit tucked into cowboys boots whispering, “Does me look cool, Mom?”  Hell Yeah!!

 

I have become a master puppeteer with a repertoire of creepy cartoon voices that Milo is in awe of.  They are not mere puppet shows, to him, they are Knight Bear, L.T. (large tarantula) and Treefrog the Tiger come to life.  The puppets ask questions, tell stories and go on adventures with us.  Puppeting has fast become an extremely serious affair in our household.  I am a cast of thousands with an adoring audience of one.  Finally, I am recognized and applauded for the complete and utter weirdo that I am.

 “Just beyond the sea, there is a land as genuine as the eyes of your son when he smiles.”
                                     -Gianmaria Testa