growing up mommy (pt. 7)

a continuation of growing up mommy (pt. 6)

the youngest baby…

He was seven years old when he moved in with us.  Just the cutest little boy I’d ever seen. Little did I know that he’d capture my heart the way he did.

a miracle child…

To his biological mom, he was known as the miracle baby.  From what I understand, she was diagnosed with cancer.  According to the doctors, her pregnancy slowed the progression of that cancer and ultimately saved her life.  Hence, the baby saved her.  I am assuming that situation created a special bond between mother and son.  This what a different kind of bond than the one she shared with her oldest child.  And remember, there wasn’t much of a bond at all with her daughter.

adjusting to the move…

I guess the family dynamic, that was the biological mom and children, was a little dysfunctional from the start.  But alas, this is about my baby boy.  When he moved in, I believe he adjusted the quickest.  He was a happy, witty child.  His one liners would make us laugh until our bellies hurt.  He got that from his daddy.  Now there’s a bond that would rival most.  I’d have to say, this little boy had his daddy’s looks and quick humor.  The two of them together was like a self made comedy act.  Dinner time was the best, it was like a meal and a show every night and my favorite time of the day.

mommy issues…

He had the hardest time dealing with his bio mom’s sporadic visits.  Every three or four months, she and her boyfriend would show up and keep the kids for a weekend.  Every time they dropped the kids off at home, my little boy would cry for hours.  I think, at the time, it was because he just never knew when she’d show up again.  It broke my heart.  And just so you know, this is another reason that the visits had to stop.  It just wasn’t healthy for any of the kids.

growing closer…

Maybe it’s because he was so young, maybe it was because he was desperate for a mother figure, but we grew close fairly quickly and I immediately became momma.  But, I became much more than that.  We would watch shows together, I’d read to him, he’d read to me and eventually, we came up with a nickname.  I really don’t remember how it came about, but for the last four years, I’ve been his Punkin and he’s been mine.  Not pumpkin, mind you, but Punkin.  Every text and every phone call, every time I tuck him in bed, it ends with “I love you Punkin.”  Now my “baby” boy is sixteen years old.  No matter how old he gets, he’s always going to be my Punkin.

This boy holds my heart in the palm of his hand…

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