Counting Fingers, Toes & Pubes

As I rushed my youngest son Nic out of the door to school this morning, I counted down the minutes and I realized, Motherhood is all about counting.

Nic you have fifteen more minutes…

Nic you have five more minutes…

Seventeen years ago, I started off by counting Nic’s fingers and toes, his ounces of formula, his bowel movements and then, how many teeth he cut, how many steps he took, how many words in his vocabulary…

I did this with all three of my sons.

And the playground pressures. You always had to know how old your kid was; first by days; then by weeks; and then by months. Er, my kid is 205 months. Today.

Then I graduated to counting daily servings of vegetables; keeping up with how many times each kid bathed that week; counting pieces of candy (yes, I gave my sons SUGAR); dividing Matchbox cars evenly amongst the boys; and counting heads before I left the grocery store.

And then I counted how many tardies; how many school absences in a semester; how many Cs; how many minutes before and after curfew; how many times my boys shaved the same three whiskers; how many heads of my son’s classmates assigned to me, on a Field Trip (yes, I lost a kid at the New Orleans zoo once); how many bottles of liquor were in the cabinet; how many soccer/basketball/baseball games until the season ended; how many hours until the movie ended; how many loads of laundry; and just how many pubic hairs could one pre-teen shed before he had to see a doctor?

But now I have my last, teenage-man-boy. And I’m still counting… Not so much the grades anymore; because he is at the age where he has realized the importance of getting good grades, if he hopes to one day move out, and get away from us.And of course, he must get away from us…

Oh, and just so y’all know, Hubs and I learned we are the most embarrassing and bizarre parents, on the entire planet. So everyone else is off the hook. We got this. For you.

And I don’t have to count how many times Nic shaves anymore, you know, to make sure he doesn’t shave off any skin; he has that down pretty well too.

I still count liquor bottles though. The number of bottles hasn’t changed, but it makes me feel like a responsible parent when I keep a tally. So I count.

These days I also count the number of days we will be on vacation, while Nic pretends to be hatched from an egg, and stays home, alone (with a security system, two ferocious dogs, pepper spray, a BB gun, and nosey neighbors who exercise their second ammendment right). I had to put that last part in there because this is the internet, and well, it’s also true; because, this is The South.

And then, like with my older two sons, when Nic moves out, I’ll count the number of phone calls home; the hours until I see him again, and hopefully, someday, the heads of my grandchildren.

Boys, on the grandchildren heads, take your time, I’m not counting.

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One comment on “Counting Fingers, Toes & Pubes

  1. Elena
    May 10, 2013 at May 10, 2013 #

    Beautiful post! funny and yet touching. Thank you for sharing!

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