Dear Conley,
There was not a dot of the fabled Carolina blue in the sky the day you were born. It was not the type of weather that drives people south. No, the day you were born, was dreary, muggy, and overcast.
However, the weather was an appropriate backdrop for an odd and out of place day. When I went to the doctor for my check up that day, I thought that I still had weeks before I would hold you in my arms. I would soon learn that right from the very beginning, you were going to do life on your own terms.
My blood pressure had spiked to a dangerous level and the doctor felt it best that they induce labor. However, in a trait that you come by naturally, you stubbornly refused to abandon your breech position and therefore you burst into the world via c-section.
When I left the house that morning I didn’t know that June 17, 2009, wild, misfit of a day, would become my favorite date in the history of time. However, when I held you for the first time – I knew. I could actually feel the broken parts of me start turning. They began creakily twisting and stretching, yearning to come back together.
In the coming years since that day, I have known true, unadulterated happiness. It’s not to say that there haven’t been bad days, a couple of devastatingly hard ones even, but the worst day with you is better than the best day without you.
It brings me so much joy to see the world through your uncynical, joyful eyes. When I was a little kid the world made me hard. I spent a lot of time in the back seat of my parents’ half-broke-down cars speeding down winding, mountainous roads of West Virginia. I would rest my head against the cool window, eat my dinner out of the fast food bag and play the game I called, If That Were My House:
- If that were my house, we would be sitting down to dinner: spaghetti and then chocolate cake.
- If that were my house, my dad and I would be shooting hoops in the driveway.
- If that were my house, we would be watching Family Ties and eating popcorn.
These were my made up stories with my made up parents in my made up life. When I was scared and tired from being in that back seat too long, I gazed into windows and imagined myself in someone else’s story. From that first moment in the hospital I was determined to make my made-up fairy tales into the lines of your daily diary.
And, I know that I don’t always get it right. I hate to play board games and I’d rather give myself a root canal than do a craft. I’ll never be able to help you with your math homework. I sometimes say things that hurt your feelings. I’m never going to let you win a race and I’m probably going to talk mad smack when I beat you. I monitor your sugar intake and rarely let you have a soda. There are times when I want to fold into a book and not pay any attention to you.
I know that I’m going to screw up from time to time. We’re going to have disagreements and arguments along the way. However, I can promise you that I will love and protect you with a fierceness and loyalty normally reserved for the Navy Seals. I will take you to movies and plays and musicals. I will be at your games. I will always come pick you up. I will tell you the truth. I will let you say curse words and listen to inappropriate music. I will always be down with breakfast for dinner. I will encourage you to see the world while reminding you that I’ll always be waiting on you at home. I’ll never confuse my dreams with yours. I’ll accept that sometimes you’re not going to want me around.
Thank you for changing my entire world by being your incredible ribeye-loving, The Office-watching, Instagram-posting, dry humor-having, messy room-keeping, Lucky Charms-eating, hug-giving, empathetic, artistic, non-judgmental self.
You are all the good stuff, Boo Radley. Thank you for softening me up again.
I love you more than you’ll ever know.
Happy, happy birthday!
Love,
Mama
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
Soshally Awkward
Sosha Lewis is a writer whose work has been featured in The Washington Post, Huffington Post, MUTHA Magazine and The Charlotte Observer. She writes about her sometimes wild, sometimes hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking past filled with free-lunches, a grimy sports bar, a six foot tall Albino woman who tried to save her teenage soul, felonious, drug addicted parents, an imaginary friend named Blueberry and growing up nestled in the coal-dusted mountains of West Virginia.
