The hard drive on my laptop died.
Luckily I had backed up everything onto Google Drive.
Only… only I did it wrong.
I knew I did it wrong. I knew I’d moved everything around to the wrong area, and I knew I needed to fix it, and I just kept putting it off.
And then the hard drive on my laptop died.
One book survived. The other…. the other didn’t. It’s gone.
It wasn’t finished – maybe only 3/4 done? And let me just be honest – it wasn’t great. It needed a ton of rewriting.
Still. 60,000 words gone, as if I never even typed them. I feel a bit like I’m in mourning.
So, today, I’m choosing to focus on things I’ve given birth to that have managed to survive my inept mishandling.
Holy crap, guys. The DragonMonkey started kindergarten today.
How he looked at home, versus how he looked at school.
You know how they say “OMG, blink your eyes, and the next thing you know they’re going to be graduating high school”? They also tell you to revel in every single moment, because they go by in a flash.
Well, I’m here to tell you….
They’re totally wrong.
DragonMonkey, these have been the longest 5 (going on 6) years of my life.
Dude. You have AGED ME BEYOND BELIEF.
Look at me on the first day I met you:
I look so… fresh-faced and innocent. So relaxed. I had no idea what I was getting into.
Like, literally. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to comfort infants like this.
Wait… you want me to put my nipple where?
Also, for the record, I apologize that the first words you heard from me where “Wow, he’s kind of ugly.”
I apologize… but seriously, it was the truth.
Dear DragonMonkey: a nose belongs in the middle of your face. Get your sh*t together.
Also, do you know what else “they” lied about? They lied about that instaneous rush of love you’re supposed to immediately feel for your child. You and I pretty much just stared at each other for the first three months of life… well, I stared in horror and you stared in concern in between bouts of intense screaming.
You were cute, sure, but I just wasn’t overwhelmed with this unbelievable love for you right from the start. You were more like some kind of cute baby that someone had asked me to babysit… only they weren’t coming to pick you up. Ever. And holy crap, what was I supposed to do with you?
Sorry, kid. Postpartum depression is a helluva thing. But, you know, I didn’t leave you on anyone’s doorstep while I ran away to Montana, and that’s something, right? And I eventually got better at the being a mom thing… and you got cuter:
And then one day I realized I did love you with all of my heart, even though you were never exactly an easy baby:
I hate food.
I hate water.
I hate sitting.
I hate life.
But, you know, we survived. It was the longest year of my entire life, but we survived, and the next thing I knew, you were one.
And by that point you were, like, your own little person.
Albeit an angry little person.
Seriously, kid. It’s grass, not lava.
It’s sticky jelly on your hand, not lava.
It’s naptime, not lava.
Two was a, uh… a “fun” year. At least you had the decency to be ridiculously good-looking – it made your fits easier to look at. Seriously. Even if I weren’t your mom, I’d find you super good-looking. And when you were happy, there was nobody happier.
Although, honestly, would it have killed you to slow down some, from time to time?
It must have been all those organic, homemade meals I cooked which gave you all that energy.
And then we decided that since we’d done such a great ruining your life, we might as well get accidentally pregnant and ruin another kid’s life, too.
Relax, boys. It’s just me holding your hand, not lava.
Relax, boys, it’s not lava—oh, wait. I’m not in this picture, so you guys are actually happy.
Mission teach child duckface: Success (if such a thing can be called a success.)
And then your mom looked at how stupidly long this post was and decided to quit reminiscing and just age you really fast. So, then you were four.
And then you were five.
You’ll note that I don’t post quite as many humiliating stories about you anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I still write about you. It’s just… I figure once you reach the age of caring what your clothes look like, you kind of deserve a bit more privacy. Not a ton, but at least a little bit. Besides, I create plenty of fodder on my own to write about.
Although if you emulate Miley Cyrus, all bets are off.
And look, here’s the thing. These five years? They did not go by in a flash. They dragged on. And on. And on. But you know what? You are worth it.
You’re a cool kid. Seriously. You have the most amazing personality.
No, DragonMonkey. No. I’m sorry, but nobody wants any tickets to the gun show. Can I interest you in a sandwich instead?
And even if you still have your grumpy moments from time to time….
They don’t last long. And heck, nobody’s happy all the time.
You’re an awesome big brother.
And just a great little kid.
And when I dropped you off today, I may have shed a tear. Or three.
But now I’m headed to the barn to ride my horse, and when I get in the car I’m gonna blast some Jim Croce, or maybe some Jack Johnson, and as I drive I’m gonna sing at the top of my lungs because YOU AND ME, KID, WE SURVIVED EACH OTHER.
And if that doesn’t deserve some celebration, I don’t know what does.
Happy first day of Kindergarten, DragonMonkey. I hope it’s everything you imagined.