When I found out I was pregnant, I was terrified. For many, many reasons. But one of my biggest fears had to do with how well-equipped I was to be a mom, and if I would be able to parent this child no matter what his personality might be. You see, I believe there is some truth to the whole idea of karma. That what goes around comes around. That our lives may be shaped by what we did, what we gave, what we took, in the past. If you subscribe to this school of thought, and if you were me at the moment of truth, looking at that plus sign light up on that little stick, you would have been frightened too. Scared right out of your pants.
Because I was the worst child imaginable. My behavior was atrocious. The stories about my childhood are never-ending. It is the stuff of legends. Legendary among my family and friends, at least. To date, every family gathering consists of a conversation such as Remember when..."you cracked your head open on the stairs throwing a tantrum over wanting more candy", or "you screamed bloody murder every time we tried to put snow boots on your feet", or "it took three adults to restrain you while trying to remove a splinter from your toe", or "we didn't take you out in public until you were in kindergarten", etc. And then the person recalling these wistful memories shakes their head as if in disbelief about the whole matter and sighs "you really were a difficult child".
And what is worse is that I didn't grow out of it like many children do. My teenage years were even more troubling for my parents. A tenuous time filled with juvenile delinquencies, run-ins with the police, and self-cultivation of the worst teen attitude known to mankind. My parents finally sent me "off to the nuns" to straighten me out. This was definitely a drastic measure as we're not Catholic.
Well, this part of the story ends happily (from my perspective, anyway). Attending Catholic school worked wonders. I grew up, eventually started acting like a decent human being, met a nice boy, fell in love and got married. Which brings me back to the moment I found out I was going to be a mom, and the point of this whole story.
Miles had his first public tantrum/meltdown today. We were grocery shopping and he just lost it. Right there, in the middle of the store. He wailed. He cried. He started repeating words over and over in a shriek of anger. I stayed calm, but it was a challenge. I know that this is only the first of many more toddler tantrums to come. But, this experience today made me think of just how lucky I am that it took this long for a tantrum to show up. I knew it was inevitable. Kids do that. Some more than others. And truthfully, I probably deserve a bit of payback. I just count my blessings for having a healthy, happy, mostly easygoing child. This little episode pales in comparison with what some parents face everyday. I do consider myself one lucky gal. Lucky, indeed.
Happy anniversary, my love. The memory of watching you from the banks of the River Elqui still gives me butterflies. 'Nuff said.
