Originally published on March 20, 2016
f I had a nickel for every time I said flush and wash your hands or don’t touch your brother or please use soap on the stinky parts, I’d be a very wealthy woman. As it is, I’m just nuttier than squirrel poop because that’s what raising sons does to you.
You spend the better part of every minute of everyday for two decades focusing all your energy on turning the little savages into civilized human beings and then what do they do? WHAT DO THEY DO? They up and leave. That’s right. They go to college, get jobs, become successful, independent people. Translation: THEY DO NOT NEED YOU ANYMORE. [WATCH]
As if leaving the nest isn’t enough of a dagger in the heart, they have the nerve to get annoyed with you because (are you ready) you think about them too much. My sons are smart, capable, grown men, but they fail to understand that being their mom is a hard habit to break. I admit it. I still think about them… All. The. Time.
It’s not like I don’t have my own life and hobbies and other super-important stuff to do everyday. I just think about them whilst I go about my business. And I reach out to them to let them know. So sue me. They think it’s excessive. I think it’s normal. Agree to disagree.
another thing, don’t get all agitated when I ask for help with electronic devices and apps and social media. Remember, I taught you how to tie your shoes.
Contrary to what my sons would have you believe, I am not some pathological article-forwarding, blurt-texting, inopportune-phone-call-making crazy person. Sure, thoughts of my sons are constantly firing across my neural pathways, but not only is this perfectly normal, scientific evidence suggests it is also biological. [RELATED: Bearing Sons Can Alter Your Mind, Melissa Lee Phillips]
Decades ago, researchers discovered that maternal and fetal DNA is exchanged during pregnancy. Old news – yes – but a relatively new study led to this astonishing discovery: DNA from male fetuses actually persists in the mothers’ brain throughout her entire lifetime.
SHUT. THE. FRONT. DOOR. No wonder just about everything reminds me of one or the other or both of my sons. Those little buggers planted pieces of themselves in my brain and they’re behaving like I’m the problem. (Cue choir of angels) I am not nuttier than squirrel poop.
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