...my first pancake

13. Some find this number unlucky. To me it has always been the number I bet on, the lotto ticket I buy or the number I hope to find on the back of my fortune cookie fortune...solidifying what some Chinese person I've never met, got it right. This week, it means a little more as it marks a moment in time that seriously seems like yesterday, and not 13 years ago.

Funny how people say, time flies. In the moment you either get it or think they are pacifying themselves for being old. When you finally notice that time has flown, you feel, old. It seems like yesterday I was getting a room ready for a baby I had not yet met. I was nervous, scared, uncomfortable and very pregnant. I sat in this baby's room and wondered, when did I become a grown-up? Would I know what to do? Would I get it right? Would I understand that life would never be the same? Various answers to these questions prevail and some I'm still asking myself. But 13 years ago, I entered the world of being a mother for the first time, and life was blessed with my Oscar.

Unlike anything I could have ever expected that is exactly what Oscar is. Creative, thoughtful, intelligent, funny, introspective, kind, unique and blonde. He came into the world, larger than life and since has carried that persona with him to this day. As a small one, he was always amazing me with his abilities that seemed to come from nowhere. He, perhaps prophetically, didn't start talking until he was a toddler. As a first time mom, you never want to compare your precious offspring in "first pancake" terms. The theory that the first pancake you make is just an experiment, clearly not comparable to a human, but you get it. You will mold this child into a perfect human being, because that is your job. Funny what you focus on when a child is so small. It all was made clear when we were walking down steps in our house one day, and Oscar uttered his first words. "That stupid-ass-dog..." properly commenting on our neighbor's incessantly barking dog. I was proud, shocked, excited and horrified all at the same moment. I had some things to learn, some audible words to clearly censor and perhaps a job application for my "first pancake" at the truck stop.

But this, as I know, is only the beginning. I write a lot about being a mother of a teenage boy, mainly out of ignorance, but it is just that. I think if I knew exactly what to do it would probably make me a crappy parent. We are just starting this official world of TEEN-DOM and while at times it feels like I should have been paying attention in psychology classes in college, I know that my "first pancake" and I are going to survive it, possibly not unscathed but never-the-less. I am proud to see him grow into his own, from that tiny little person who liked to hunt dinosaurs and Bigfoot in our back yard, to an albeit typical, weird hair growth, odd smelling, loveable, hilarious and cheeky guy. In a lot of ways he's like Yoda, as he really thinks about things before getting into a serious discussion, when he has something to say there is some pretty serious thought behind it. Other times he's like someone who has Tourette's syndrome, the latter probably because he is a teen. He likes to come into a room and give a look, no words, and just sits next to me. I make him wait a good two to three minutes before I break the silence and just ask what he wants. It shocks him and he always says, "Why do you say that? ...So, can I ...."

So as I set out on this journey, charting the smelly, hormonal, fart joke, patchy hair growth waters of living with a teenage boy, I will do so with courage, perseverance and a stocked liquor cabinet. To my "first pancake", happiest of 13th birthdays to you, may you someday understand that while we are in this together, I pretty much had no idea what I was doing the whole time.