When the time comes for you to be in therapy and talk about all the things your Mamman tried to do right but somehow got wrong, please take into account a few things. By the time I gave birth to you, I was already old, well not old, but older. You see, many believe that birthing babies is for the young and once you hit 40 you have little or no stamina for child rearing. (In fact, I’ve been told that the reason I got the “suite” at the birthing center was in case they needed the crash cart during delivery, being that I was so close to social security and all.) While I don’t agree that only the young should become parents, I do recognize that my advanced age and wisdom, may have contributed to some of your neuroses, for which I do take responsibility. Being well into my 40s, I had years to read, gather, watch, learn, study and develop compulsions for which to possibly smother you.
Please consider that when you were young, 40 was the new 30, so, I had to walk you all over creation for hours on end to keep in shape. I’m sorry you were forced to be covered in copious amounts of sunscreen until it ran into your eyes and nearly blinded you. I just couldn’t take any chances. I am also sorry that I tried to be so politically correct that I never just offered you as a husband to pretty little girls but to pretty little boys too. I just didn’t want to put you in a box or determine your future before you knew what you wanted.
As far as your possible “fear of being photographed on the toilet syndrome” is concerned, let me explain. It all stemmed from my desire to make sure you had a healthy digestive flow. Convinced that proper elimination is the key to good health, I would feed you healthy greens to ensure it. So, it was with pure pride that I would follow you into the bathroom when you indicated you had to relieve yourself. In retrospect, perhaps it was too much to make you stop mid-stream so I could run and get my iPhone to photograph you and then post your perfect poop photos to friends and family. Instagram was all the rage and I really was intent on sharing the “real stuff” online not just perfect pictures but shitty things too. (Besides, everybody poops, you even had the book).
The truth is, precious boy, being a mother is not for the squeamish. One hopes that their youthful heart can make it through the scrapes and hard edges life presents. Since the day you were born, I wanted to make your world perfectly amazing, with bright colors, enchanting experiences and soft places to land. I always had your big, beautiful heart in mind when making choices for you. I hope you can say that your childhood was filled with amazing experiences and wild adventures that formed you into the astounding human being that you have become. So, though you may find yourself lying on a couch, across from a gentle soul healer wearing Dansko clogs and wire rimmed glasses at the rate of $150per hour, just know that your old lady Mamman loved you.
P.S. Please be sure to tell your therapist that I made it a priority to show you affection, with over 100 kisses on each cheek daily (unfortunately I often did it with lipstick on and that’s why many of the photographs look as though you have bruises on your face, seriously).