These Are My Hopes For You, My Son
I was equal parts excited and nervous to learn we were having a baby boy. Now that he’s here, I feel an overwhelming sense of love for him and I delight in kissing his chubby cheeks every day. Right now, our days are filled with play time, nap time, meal time and the occasional tantrum, which keeps life hectic and beautiful all at the same time. Between cleaning food from the floor and worrying about sleep training, my experience with motherhood so far has been limited to doing my best to keep my son well-fed and well-rested in order to keep fussing to a minimum.
But, I know it won’t always be this way. After all, boys turn into men and I want to do my best to raise a thoughtful, conscientious, hard-working gentleman.
To be fair, had we had a girl, I know I would be mindful about doing my best to teach her to be a strong, confident woman, but one who knows it’s still OK to be vulnerable. But, perhaps since the male psyche is so foreign to me, raising a son seems like a bit more of a challenge.
So, my son, here are my hopes for you.
I hope you have a carefree childhood, filled with love, laughter and learning. Every child deserves that.
Your dad and I will give you opportunities to flourish in the hobbies and activities you find exciting and fulfilling, be it soccer or art, hockey, music or ballet. In turn, I hope you appreciate the privileged start you have as a little boy with these opportunities. I hope as you grow up, you know it’s important to work hard to earn your successes.
I hope you are well-mannered, polite and respectful to family, friends and strangers alike, but that you also aren’t afraid to speak your mind when the situation warrants.
I hope you grow up to be hard-working like your Daddy. By the same token, I hope you aren’t afraid to show your softer side. I hope you know it’s OK to cry and be vulnerable.
I hope you know that women are equally as capable, witty and smart as you are. Know that you are lucky to have strong women in your life. Don’t ever belittle them or take them for granted. In turn, don’t let them take you for granted, either.
I hope you love with all you have, even after you’ve experienced heartbreak. I promise you, things get better and it’s worth it when you find someone who loves you and is as committed to you as you are to her.
I hope you have fun in life, but know there are consequences. Go to the party. Eat the cake. Take part in life’s celebrations, big or little. But make responsible decisions and accept responsibility for your actions.
I hope when you find “the one” and get married, that you kiss your wife good morning, good night, and tell her you love her every day. That when you come home from a day’s work, you jump right into your role of father and husband, helping with dishes and homework and bedtime routines. That you’re always there for your own children, just like we will be here for you.
I hope you know the value of hard work. But, more importantly, I hope you make time for your family and friends and that you appreciate the little things in life. They are what’s most important, after all.
Most of all, no matter what path you choose, I hope you become a genuinely good human being.
I know this is a tall order, but I hope we can give you these experiences and teach you these qualities by example. Most of all, I hope you know Mommy and Daddy love and support you, no matter what.
You might also like:
When your Little Boys Aren’t Little Anymore, This is What You Can Look Forward To
Why Tired Mothers Stay Up So Late
God Gave Me Sons
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The message notification pinged on my phone. A woman, once one of my best friends, was reaching out to me via Facebook. Her message simply read, “Wanted to catch up and see how life was treating you!” I had very conflicting feelings. It seemed with that one single message, a flood of memories surfaced. Some held some great moments and laughter. Other memories held disappointment and hurt of a friendship that simply had run its course. Out of morbid curiosity, I clicked on her profile page to see how the years had been treating her. She was divorced and still…
We met online in October of 2005, by way of a spam email ad I was THIS CLOSE to marking as trash. Meet Single Christians! My cheese alert siren sounded loudly, but for some reason, I unchecked the delete box and clicked through to the site. We met face-to-face that Thanksgiving. As I awaited your arrival in my mother’s kitchen, my dad whispered to my little brother, “Hide your valuables. Stacy has some guy she met online coming for Thanksgiving dinner.” We embraced for the first time in my parents’ driveway. I was wearing my black cashmere sweater with the…
I have this one head. It is a normal sized head. It didn’t get bigger because I had children. Just like I didn’t grow an extra arm with the birth of each child. I mean, while that would be nice, it’s just not the case. We keep our one self. And the children we add on each add on to our weight in this life. And the head didn’t grow more heads because we become a wife to someone. Or a boss to someone. We carry the weight of motherhood. The decisions we must make each day—fight the shorts battle…
Tiny sparkles are nestled in the wispy hair falling across her brow, shaken free of the princess costume she pulled over her head this morning. She’s swathed in pink: a satiny pink dress-up bodice, a fluffy, pink, slightly-less-glittery-than-it-was-two-hours-ago tulle skirt, a worn, soft pink baby blanket. She’s slowed long enough to crawl into my lap, blinking heavy eyelids. She’s a little less baby today than she was only yesterday. Soon, she’ll be too big, too busy for my arms. But today, I’m rocking a princess. The early years will be filled with exploration and adventure. She’ll climb atop counters and…
Dear husband, I loved you first. But often, you get the last of me. I remember you picking me up for our first date. I spent a whole hour getting ready for you. Making sure every hair was in place and my make-up was perfect. When you see me now at the end of the day, the make-up that is left on my face is smeared. My hair is more than likely in a ponytail or some rat’s nest on the top of my head. And my outfit, 100% has someone’s bodily fluids smeared somewhere. But there were days when…
Stop being a butthole wife. No, I’m serious. End it. Let’s start with the laundry angst. I get it, the guy can’t find the hamper. It’s maddening. It’s insanity. Why, why, must he leave piles of clothes scattered, the same way that the toddler does, right? I mean, grow up and help out around here, man. There is no laundry fairy. What if that pile of laundry is a gift in disguise from a God you can’t (yet) see? Don’t roll your eyes, hear me out on this one. I was a butthole wife. Until my husband died. The day…
A couple of friends and I went and grabbed lunch at Chick-fil-A a couple of weeks ago. It was delightful. We spent roughly $20 apiece, and our kids ran in and out of the play area barefoot and stinky and begged us for ice cream, to which we responded, “Not until you finish your nuggets,” to which they responded with a whine, and then ran off again like a bolt of crazy energy. One friend had to climb into the play tubes a few times to save her 22-month-old, but it was still worth every penny. Every. Single. One. Even…
Twelve years have passed since my mother exclaimed, “I’ve died and gone to Heaven!” as she leaned back in her big donut-shaped tube and splashed her toes, enjoying the serenity of the river. Twelve years since I stood on the shore of that same river, 45 minutes later, watching to see if the hopeful EMT would be able to revive my mother as she floated toward his outstretched hands. Twelve years ago, I stood alone in my bedroom, weak and trembling, as I opened my mother’s Bible and all the little keepsakes she’d stowed inside tumbled to the floor. It…
I tried. We say these words for two reasons. One: for our own justification that we made an effort to complete a task; and two: to admit that we fell short of that task. I wrote those words in an e-mail tonight to a friend I had for nearly 25 years after not speaking to her for eight months. It was the third e-mail I’ve sent over the past few weeks to try to reconcile with a woman who was more of a sister to me at some points than my own biological sister was. It’s sad when we drift…
In the winter of 1985, while I was halfway done growing in my mom’s belly, my parents moved into a little brown 3 bedroom/1.5 bath that was halfway between the school and the prison in which my dad worked as a corrections officer. I would be the first baby they brought home to their new house, joining my older sister. I’d take my first steps across the brown shag carpet that the previous owner had installed. The back bedroom was mine, and mom plastered Smurf-themed wallpaper on the accent wall to try to get me to sleep in there every…
‘My mother-in-law refers to my baby as her son — it’s driving me insane’
A mum has taken to Reddit to share how her ‘invasive’ mother-in-law has been referring to her newborn son as ‘her baby’ and even implies she was the one who gave birth to him on social media
She is fed up with her mother-in-law implying she was the one who gave birth to him (stock photo) (
Image: Getty Images)
A mum has been left outraged after her mother-in-law started referring to her grandchild as her son. The woman explained how her «invasive» mother-in-law has been posting pictures of her newborn on social media implying she was the one who gave birth to him.
Wanting to give her a reality check, the woman is in two minds about sitting her down for a «serious chat» to ultimately reset the boundaries. Taking to Reddit, she said: «My mother-in-law is a bit over the top when it comes to almost everything. I know she means the best and is super nice, but it just bugs the hell out of me sometimes. She doesn’t really listen when I ask her not to do things, and does them anyway because she thinks it will be helpful, but it has become a bit invasive.»
‘Bridezilla’ rages after two-year-old niece wears white dress to her wedding
The mother-in-law refers to him as ‘my baby’ rather than her grandchild (stock photo)
She went on to explain how her mother-in-law started it all off by referring to her child as «my baby» or «our baby» when speaking about the youngster.
Taking this one step further, she then started publicly referring to him as «her child» to her friends on social media.
«She has began to refer to my baby as ‘my baby’ or ‘our baby’ — but it really p***es me off. It’s implying that she had the child and it is her son.
«No, it’s my child, your grandchild. You had your two children, this one is mine.
«She posts it all over social media also, ‘Going to see our baby!’. I feel like commenting and saying, ‘Oh wow, I didn’t know you had another child!’.»
While most users urged her to have a sit down conversation with her mother-in-law about it all, others shared their own stories of their over-involved in-laws.
One user said: «My mother-in-law does this too! Baby isn’t here yet but she’s already referring to him as ‘our baby’.
«I just keep reminding myself that not everything warrants a response and I have to pick and choose my battles with her and her annoying habits.
«As long as it doesn’t intrude on my time with my baby or cross any of my well established boundaries, she can refer to him however she wants.»
Another user added: «My husband’s sister and mum call my daughter ‘my baby’.
«At first it bothered me because it’s my baby not yours but after about three years, my hormones have calmed down now I don’t really give a s***.
«I guess you can say I was very possessive over my one and only child.»
A third user said: «My mother-in-law once said ‘He’s my baby too’ during an argument.
«I’ve never corrected someone more harshly or more quickly than in that moment. Absolutely not. Shut that entitlement down.»
Do you have a story to share? Email [email protected].
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My Little Son — Stories
It was a very warm spring when my magical pregnancy happened. I was 19 years old, my beloved and I decided to get married. The wedding was scheduled for August 5th. Everything was so exciting, so joyful. All summer I ate berries and enjoyed my growing belly. No toxicosis, no pain, perfect first screening — a wonderful time. We had a pre-wedding photo session where we took a couple of photos focusing on my pregnancy. I was looking forward to August 2 — it was then that I had to find out the gender of my baby.
My husband and I went for an ultrasound scan, the doctor watched everything carefully, dictated to the record, but at some point he stopped talking. I changed the sensor and drove again for a long time, and then I heard: “CM (congenital malformations)”. I almost silently whispered to my husband that it was bad, but then I could not even think how much. Further, the doctor announced the diagnosis: “Alobar holoprosencephaly”. Later I will find out how rare and terrible the diagnosis is, but for now the doctor is talking about some kind of urgent consultation, without explaining what it is at all. I beg him to tell him what is wrong with my baby, to which he replies that the hemispheres of the brain have not separated, and he is very sorry. I remember how, out of breath, I ran out of the office under the gaze of pregnant women sitting in line. I remember how I sobbed, sitting on my knees on the pavement and screaming, and my husband, still a boy, absolutely did not know what to do, and only repeated like a mantra: «Everything will be fine.» But it was not good, neither on that day, nor after.
On August 3, my husband and I went to church. We were going to get married after the wedding. At communion, I told the priest about what had happened. He asked me to stay after the service. What I heard from him stuck in my head for a long time and ate me. He said: “It is better to be a great martyr who died in childbirth than to let your innocent child be killed with your own hands.”
“Miracles do not happen”
On August 4, I came to the consultation at the “Family Planning Center”. The doctor from the ultrasound room refused to see me, because I was not booked, but arrived urgently and on the recommendation. She did not care, she only repeated that she would not be paid for me. As a result, roughly and painfully moving the sensor over her stomach, she told me with a smirk: “Well, why were you sent here, well, it’s clear: there are no miracles.” It took great effort not to fall to the floor again, sobbing. Further, with the conclusion, I went to the head of the family planning center, who, without really explaining anything, said that I would be urgently hospitalized right from here, because the term was long, and they would not be able to interrupt me if I didn’t hurry. I quietly said that I couldn’t go, because I had a wedding tomorrow, to which I heard: “You need to get married first, otherwise you have “such” freaks and are born.” And she gave a direction for interruption on August 8.
My mother suggested canceling the whole celebration: restaurant, guests, photos. Everyone knew that I was pregnant, but no one knew that there would be no child. Thinking about what it would be like explaining to everyone the reason for canceling the wedding, the reason why my husband and I would not have a baby, drove me crazy. I was crushed, there was no way to describe and release these emotions. I hardly slept.
At the wedding, we asked the toastmaster to remove all contests related to the baby. The wedding was on top, it’s the happiest day in the couple’s life. I held on as best I could. But at home, going to bed, for the first time my husband did not hug and stroke my stomach, and then I realized that this was the end.
On August 8, I arrived at the hospital, where they gave me a birth control pill. There were seven of us in the room. Someone after an abortion, someone like me, came to «lose» their happiness. I was horrified that when I entered the ward, right on the next bed, a woman was giving birth to her dead baby. It was terrible. There were no medical staff in the ward, only patients. When she gave birth, someone called the nurse, who took away the sheets covered in blood and the body. The same thing was waiting for me.
August 9, after the second pill, at 9 pm contractions began. It was agony. By 5 in the morning I went to the toilet and whined there so as not to wake the neighbors. At 7 a nurse came and drove me into the ward so that I would not give birth to her on a clean floor. At 10:00 am, August 10, my son was born, 320 grams, 23 centimeters, at 22 weeks. I was alone in the room. He lay between my legs on the bed, I so wanted to hold him, but I didn’t have the strength at all, I could only look at him and take him by the tiny hand. For fifteen minutes I lay with my dead son, looking at him, trying to remember every feature.
The nurse came, threw a sheet over my child and took him away. My son looked like an ordinary child, small, of course, but completely ordinary. He had the cutest hands, nose and lips. I would like to bury him, but they didn’t let me, because he was born less than 500 grams in weight. It was killing me. An autopsy confirmed the diagnosis.
I didn’t live for a very long time. It was hard to see my husband, my parents, and to know that only I saw this child, that he was, that he existed! I still think that if I had the opportunity to hold him in my arms and bury him, it would be easier for me.
5 years have passed. He would be 5, but he is not. Now I have two beautiful children — a son and a daughter. And I am very glad that I am a mother. Only I could not understand why this happened to us. I will never forget my first child. I will never forget these cruel and soulless people who accompanied me in my hell. I found the Light in Hands Foundation only 2 years after the tragedy and finally decided to write my own story.
Now that I am older, I understand that everything that happened to me in medical institutions is unacceptable and illegal, and if I had been smarter then, had I had professional support, everything could have been different. If there was a psychologist who would talk to me or my family, explain to them how to behave, everything would be different.
Poems about a little son
I feel your breath
And it makes me feel calm.
I write, read and sing to you,
I will fill myself with you alone.
You are the closest, sweetest and dearest,
You are the best in the world, in the universe,
And I live only by you,
You are dearer than all — the most precious.
And I take your pain upon myself,
And double my joy,
I feel you with every cell,
You are my strength and you are my weakness.
My love is so great,
It’s beyond words.
She is pure, transparent and light,
She is clear only to me — as a mother.
I am the BEST!!!
Sweet cat I’m with mom,
Pupsik, Hedgehog, Peanut,
Teddy bear and Butuz,
Chick, Sunny, Naughty,
Fidget and Screamer,
Baby, Sweet, Bell,
Fish, Berry, Flower, 9003 8 Bunny, even Piglet …
WELL WHEN AM I A BABY???
Mom’s sun, so sweet!
The look is impeccably naive, funny.
Daddy’s little eyes, with an upper lip,
Eyebrows, hairs… You’re my bunny!
A happy dream closed your eyelashes,
Leaving a thick shadow on your cheeks.
Tell me what do you dream about at night?
What dreams live among these walls?
Why did the Lord give me such happiness —
Raising, cherishing, contemplating you,
Loving you with all possible passion
And gently, gently pressing to your heart?
I will kiss your sleepy hand,
I will put my finger in a soft curl.
How sweetly your little nose sniffs!
How good you are, my sleepy angel!
How I love it when you calm down,
Trustingly clinging to my cheek.
Sleep, my sweet, glorious, serene,
May the Angel guard your peace!
For the greatest tenderness in the world
I am forever indebted to you.
The only happiness is my dear son,
My angel is glorious, beloved, dear.
You are the meaning of my life, given by fate.
Blood dear — I’m so proud of you!
Hugging my son tighter,
And smelling it,
I praise God that I’m alive…
Nothing else is needed…
Someday I won’t be,
When I’m fed up with fate…
But an adult son will get poetry
And reads about himself…
He will smile and cry,
And he will be sad, most likely…
Now the son is jumping with the ball…
Nothing else is needed.
How important it is — the son’s childhood
And so that there is no war…
So that a loving man is nearby…
And a friend in the soul without Satan…
And the years rush like minutes… shod…
Nothing else is needed…
And conscience, leaving no handful,
Runs from hearts like a deserter…
But children need life without anger,
In a country where God, goodness and peace…
And will illuminate the whole world, with the dawn,
The smile of my son …
Thank God for this!
Nothing else is needed. ..
— Dad, tell me about the war…
— I would forget it if I could,
I would tear those years out of my memory
Like a piece of paper from an old notebook,
Like a spoiled frame from the film….
They say that I was lucky,
The pier returned, almost unharmed,
Yes, the bones are intact, but the soul was burned
When a friend was blown up by a mine,
When I was collecting parts
A young flowering body…
still echoes in dreams
The song that they did not have time to sing.
— Dad, did you have a machine gun?
— There was, of course, and I killed.
Killed, but the heart screamed — not enough!
It’s a pity that I didn’t know then,
The names of real spooks!
There, behind the thick wall of the Kremlin
The roar of explosions didn’t bother them,
There they couldn’t hear the Earth groaning,
Choking on hot blood!
Their sons didn’t swallow the sand,
And they didn’t bury their friends,
And the last sip of water
They didn’t divide it into four. ..!
Something I’m limp, baby, I’m sorry.
I’m ashamed to cry, but I want to howl
From desperation and impotence
At least change something…
He sniffs softly at my side,
So trustingly squeezing my finger.
And I mentally praise God —
Now I have my boy.
He already says: “Mother!”
And laughs at me when he sees me.
For him I will become the kindest,
The most loving mother in the world.
How many restless days there were,
You can’t find a moment for yourself.
But I forgot how I lived,
Without him, without my baby.
How many more bad weather will be,
I’m not afraid in their expectation.
After all, happiness is incomparable with anything —
At night, listen to his breathing.
I kiss my sleeping son’s palms
And I stroke the light eyebrows flying,
And my forehead is still a little wet from the chase,
And from playing in a flying plane.
My sunny ray fell asleep with a smile.
I listen to his breath.
And on the table in a glass is a yellow key —
A gift from my fidget…
Sleep, my son, sleep!
Let you dream —
cartoons and fairy tales!
Close your eyes.
You and I in an embrace,
Let’s lie on the pillow.
Let’s get out of bed
All your toys.
Let them rest a little!
Rest you too!
Sleep sweet little son!
Sleep darling! Sleep!
Grow up, big boy!
Will you be my assistant.
With a smart, wise head.
With a kind, loving soul,
To make people happy —
Here, the character is golden!
Mom’s sunshine, so sweet!
The look is impeccably naive, funny.
Daddy’s eyes, with an upper lip,
Eyebrows, hairs … You are my Bunny!
How you smile! You are my native!
Mom’s welcome, dear baby!
An angel who returned home from heaven,
Sunbeam, my golden!
Cheerful dwarf, strong clockwork,
You are my brook, with babbling water!
Light miracle, Unearthly gift,
My gift in life, the biggest!
I want to wish, son,
Find your way,
So that you can fulfill all your dreams,
And there was a lot of happiness in life,
Good health, success
And faithful, devoted friends
More joy and laughter,
Bright moments, clear days!
My child is the best,
He has such eyes.