blogs

When I was a kid, I thought my mother knew everything. Literally. I remember driving around Mexico City with my parents, who were disagreeing about which way to turn to get somewhere. Sitting in the back seat, I wondered why my dad (who reads and speaks Spanish) would even bother arguing with my mom (who doesn't), because she was always right. Even the fact that on the same trip, they left my brother and me with a babysitter provided by the hotel, who did not speak English, in a foreign country (really, it was a different time back then), did not deter me from the certainty that my mom was the font of all knowledge. So here's the thing I've been wondering: Is Nicholas going to feel that way about me? That's a lot of pressure. Don't tell him, but not only do I not know everything, I don't know anything. When we got the carseat, I practiced with my stepdaughter's Teddy bear. I think I strangled it three times. Tuna sandwiches? Don't like 'em, can't make 'em. I made a turkey gravy for Thanksgiving one year that had to be chisled out of the gravy boat. I can only hope that he won't notice how clueless his mother is. Because the one thing I can do - perfectly - is love him with all that I am. And I make a fabulous baked brie. Maybe that'll be enough.