Seven years ago today, I gave birth to my son. He was born seven weeks early because his heart defect was worsening in utero.

The hospital where he was born was not equipped to handle his heart problems, and our local Children’s Hospital was not equipped to have me deliver him there. So, while I was in recovery following my c-section, a transport team came and took him from me. I spent about 30 seconds looking at him before he was whisked away and taken across town.

In 2002, May 10th fell on a Friday. On Sunday, the hospital where I was recovering allowed me to leave so I could go see my son. It was Mother’s Day.

Mother’s Day was the first time I stroked my son’s soft hair, the first time I held his fingers in mine and the first time I ever held him in my arms. I have done those things thousands of times since then, but I will never forget our first Mother’s Day together.

This year, my special day and his birthday fell on he same day. We had breakfast in bed together, we both opened gifts and got cards.

Then, I stroked his hair, I held his hand and I held him in my arms. I did all the things I did with him seven years ago, but now he’s bigger and stronger and he’s shown that heart defect who’s boss. I have watched that sick, small child grow into a great kid.

I am writing this late, after he’s gone to bed. I don’t know if there will ever be a Mother’s Day as special as that first one we shared, but today came pretty darn close.

Happy Birthday, Buddy. Your Mom loves you lots.

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A couple of years ago I was at a restaurant with my friend, Bean, enjoying some cold beer and an order of spinach and artichoke dip when our waitress came by the table to see how we were doing. She stayed to chat for a few minutes.

After she walked away, Bean looked at me and said, “You have some spinach in your teeth.”

“What?”

“You have some spinach in your teeth.”

I had not taken a bite since before our server stopped by. “Seriously? You mean, it was there the whole time we were talking to her?”

Bean replied, “Well, I didn’t want to say anything in front of her. Maybe she didn’t notice.”

“Right! Because all that laughing and smiling was completely hiding my teeth!”

Night before last, I went to happy hour with my husband and some of his employees. There was a woman sitting directly across from me whom I had never met.

Because she could apparently sense how boring I am, she ordered a shot of tequila as soon as I sat down. After she had finished, I noticed a bit of salt was left on her cheek.

Bean went and traumatized me, so I couldn’t take my eyes off of the salt and I felt like I had to tell her. After a few seconds, I leaned across the table and discreetly said, “You have a little something on your cheek.”

She thanked me and we went about our evening. I sat next to my husband’s boss and talked for about an hour before leaving.

And wouldn’t you know that when I arrived at home I looked in my bathroom mirror to find a lovely chunk of fried mozzarella stuck to my chin?

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My son was on the phone with my Mom, who he calls Vo-Vo (it’s Portuguese for grandma), when suddenly he blurted out, “Hey Vo-Vo! You know the biggest book in your house? Well, I love you all the pages in that book!” Apparently, he thought up a new version of his “I love you to infinity game”.

I smiled as he listened to her then he said, “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah. Well, I love you 10,000 miles.”

I looked over at my little guy, fresh from a bath, all cozy on the couch in his Mario pajamas and I started to get teary. He looked so perfect and sweet, holding the phone to his ear and it melted my heart to hear him talking to my Mom like that.

Again, he took in her reply, “Oh! Uh-huh. Well, I love you all the way into space in a rocket ship.”

He listened again as she tried to top him and I should have known the heart-melting wouldn’t last.

Because he then grew tired of his own game when he let out a big sigh then said, “You know what? I think we tied.”

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It is every parent’s hope and dream that their children will turn out better than they did. We wish for better opportunities, less stress and more intelligence for our offspring.

When I play with our new puppy, Daisy, I get down on the floor and talk in puppy language. I say things like, “Let me rub that super-duper, pupper-wupper, Buddha, frog belly and those oogley-googley ears!”

Yesterday, my ten year old daughter was romping on the floor with Daisy when I heard her say, “Daisy! How in the world can you be holding me down when you don’t even have opposable thumbs?”

If our puppy talk is any indication, this kid already has me beat in the intelligence department.

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