Thanks to my friend, Jan, over at Jan’s Sushi Bar, I’ve decided to give this here posting every day thing a try, y’all.
It’s called NaBloPoMo,and I can’t believe how long it just took me to write that. Stands for “National Blog Posting Month”. You post something every day for a month. The Theme for the month is “Tomorrow.”
I’ve always liked that Frank Sinatra song, “My Way.” My daddy used to play it over and over again on his stereo, when I was a little girl. When my son, Ryan, (who looks a lot like my dad, in my opinion), was born, this could have been the theme song for his whole life. He has made it his life’s work to do everything his own way.
When Ryan was about two, and just figuring out how to dress himself, he decided that he really preferred to wear things inside out, backwards or up side-down. One day he came out of his room, proud of himself for being such a big boy, all dressed and ready to go. His pants were inside out, his shirt was on backwards and his red hoodie was upside down. Yes, upside down. The “hood” part was hanging down on his hiney.
When I tried to convince him that we needed to take everything off and start over, he was devastated. “But I LIKE my clothes like this!” he insisted. And it was impossible to make him understand why it mattered. Because, really, the only argument I had was that other people would wonder why he was dressed like that, and Ryan absolutely did not care. It was the way HE wanted to look, so why should we care what anyone else thought about it?
He still doesn’t care what anyone thinks. He wears what he wants, says what he wants and makes choices that continue to make most people shake their heads and wonder what is wrong with him.
Now, at age 29, he is in a relationship with a girl that also follows her own drum beat. They’re not married, and they don’t care what anyone thinks about it. If they decide to make a commitment, they want to get matching tattoos….around their ring fingers. They are both health nuts, environmentalists and vegetarians. They don’t believe in drinking bottled water, eating processed food, or being vaccinated. Over the counter medicines, cleaning products and sunscreen do not exist in their house.
In May they had a baby. When they first announced that they intended to have a home birth, I panicked. My mother panicked. My husband panicked. My friends offered up reasons to panic that had not even occurred to me. Instead of going completely crazy from worry, I decided to do some research.
I learned a lot. I learned that my ideas about the way things “should be” are often wrong. I learned about midwives. And doulas. And even hypno births. And I had to admit that my ideas were hopelessly old fashioned.
Not that I still didn’t worry. I did. But then my beautiful granddaughter was born. At home. With a midwife, a doula, mommy and daddy in attendance. She is the most perfect, healthy, content, and beautiful (I know, I already said beautiful, but she just is!) baby I’ve ever seen.
In spite of her head strong, determined to be different and do things their own way parents. Or just maybe, because of them.