“Congratulations,” read the letter, “I am pleased to advise you that you will be recognized for your academic accomplishments at an awards dinner. You are graduating with Latin Honors: Cum Laude. You will receive a Latin Honors medallion, which can be worn at Commencement.”
Tears of joy welled in my eyes. I smiled and jumped up and down. I sent a text to D to tell him how proud his mama is and how proud his dad would have been if he were here. (I know he is looking down on D from up above and quietly beaming.)
Just the other day, I had found D’s birth certificate as I was filing away some papers. I was reminded of how quickly he came into the world almost 22 years ago He was born at 12:33 a.m. and I went into labor late the evening before. He was my second child and when his older sister was born, I had to be induced because my water had just trickled out. When I went into labor with D, I had a flood all over the car. We weren’t sure whether we were going to make it to the hospital in time.
“The head is crowning,” I remember Dr. M saying that night. “The baby is almost here. Just one more push.” Out popped D.
“It’s a boy,” said Dr. M. My husband was smiling from ear to ear. He was so happy to have a son. I on the other hand was concerned. I never thought I would have a boy. How was I going to raise a son? I hadn’t grown up with any brothers, only one sister. My father was not a sports enthusiast. I knew about Girl Scouts and Barbies. I knew about party dresses and bows in the hair, not bowties or even how to knot a tie.
Yes, it was a surprise to hold my baby boy D in my arms more than two decades ago. Unlike parents today who want to know the sex of their baby ahead of time (sometimes even through a blue or pink cupcake filling) and post the news all over their Facebook pages in advance of the birth, I never wanted to know the sex of either of my babies ahead of time. To me it was worth the wait.
However, since there was no Facebook or Twitter or YouTube back in 1990, it is fitting that I take an opportunity to boast in a blog post about my boy D who is all grown up now. When I look back on my life of the past 22 years, he is one of my proudest achievements. (Note: Should his sister be reading this post, she and all readers should know that my daughter A is also one of my proudest achievements.)
“I don’t know if I want to go to the Awards Ceremony,” said D when I spoke to him the other night.
“What do you mean you don’t want to go?” I asked politely. “Your mother wants to go.”
“We’ll see,” said D.
“Okay, it’s up to you,” I said. (What I really wanted to say was that if he didn’t want to go, I would go to the dinner for him and get the Latin Honors medallion and maybe I would wear it for him if he really didn’t want to wear it.)
I am such a proud mama.
Go D! Go D! Go D!