I'm so excited. In one hour, my husband is going to rent an average sized moving truck. It'll stay parked on our street until first thing in the morning (Saturday). He's driving it solo, due to spacing, to pick up our first born. Our eighteen year old son from college, which is about an hour away.

I'm so happy and this is all I think about. When I get down, this is my happy thought.  My tall, gorgeous adult-baby will soon be in my arms again. *Reminds me when my husband first brought the kids to the hospital. He wisely kept them away initially. I was in bad condition. When I held them both in my arms, while in my hospital bed, the rain clouds parted. The sun shined on my bed that day.

My son hasn't responded to many of my frequent phone calls since school started last Fall. My conversational needy-text would hurtfully go ignored.  Adjusting to this new chapter in my life, I'd keep busy with my youngest, with my recovery. with my marital commitment. As for my son,  I thought we'd, being extremely close and all, would communicate via modern day resources: phone, email, text, Face Time, Skype. I was accustomed to him being away from home when he skipped high school, instead, going straight to community college at fourteen.

Responsibly, he'd catch the bus to school. Tutor students. Participate in substantive activities.

Graduating ~ several degrees later, now at a four year college, he's farther away from us in mind and body. Never could I prepare myself for this detachment. Seems like yesterday, we were flabbergasted. Immaturely trying to figure out what to do with this new responsibility: a long crying creature once we returned home from the hospital. Always tackling things on our own, no complaining, only celebrating. Somehow, we succeeded.

Days after my/our son first left home, I sent him a text that read, "honey, do you need any condoms?" Minutes or seconds later, my phone rang. Finally! I can hear my child's voice again.

Sternly, "mom, I'm not having sex!" Instinctively I knew this was the case. He was raised with me/ with us talking openly about about the topic.There was no fear-mongering, only scientific facts.

Had him research certain things. Ask questions. Many things we all learned together. Creating and maintaining a safe and secure atmosphere so he felt free and heard; and seen. Checking out "what a boy needs to know" and body parts type books. Lots of science - biology, anatomy. Appropriate literature on sex, STD's. Spontaneously & liberally discussing emotional dangers of early sexual intimacy. choosing mates using your brain, etc. Educated him very early on about healthy boundaries. Self-defense. Good touch, bad touch, along with being vigilante. Paying attention. Keeping my kids a priority. Making sacrifices because they didn't force themselves to be born. I/we made the choice to give them life - and we, as a couple were responsible for that life.

Having survived a challenging childhood myself, I know firsthand what being ignorant to your body feels like. Feeling scared and alone. Having no one to confide in. Not understanding my power and my right to set boundaries.  Self-blame for adult neglect. Certainly, I could have turned a different person. I'm compassionate. Easily I can empathize, sympathize. More than likely, I've been there.

Never can I be too busy, too aloof, too self-absorbed, too naive, too anything to let predators penetrate their innocent lives or their pure bodies. Parenting is so hard, especially when you're a wounded adult. My pain was not in vain, it made me the parent I am. I digressed.

*It's amazing how a post about one thing can lead into something else.

He's coming home and I'm so elated. Days ago I texted him, "honey, be prepared for a kissing attack". That's what he called them when he was a little precocious kid. When he was born we had this awesome pediatrician. He was a fairly new doctor at the time. Very smart. Very calm. Very likable young man. During one visit, doctor did a routine check-up which included removal of my son's diaper. A faucet-like stream unexpectedly began to...doctor's shoes ended up soaked. Older, new parents, clueless, and alone navigating our own path through life. Nervously, we all laughed.

On another visit, I remember asking the doctor, "if I kiss my baby too often, will that affect him (his skin)". May sound like a silly question, but I was concerned because I couldn't stop. And until this day, I won't stop. Looking back, seems like most of the day I was kissing and squeezing and holding, and cuddling and staring at this new life created from unconditional love. The happiness I felt then, continues. I am so honored to be his (their) mommy.