Her story went something like this: ‘You know, when he got something in his mind that he wanted to do, there was no stopping him. I was at the bottom of the staircase looking up and shooteroos, here he came running in his superman outfit thinking he was going to jump off the staircase and fly…’
My husband is an only child. Yup, he is. (I can hear all you married-to-single-child peeps out there letting out a big sigh of ‘Oh, I know what you’re going through’ for me. Thanks. I appreciate it.)
He is loved, adored, praised, and held up very highly in his parents eyes - I think he is very lucky.
Not a family get-together goes by where we don’t hear an endearing story of Sheldon’s life growing up, all the while his mother’s pride still beams out of every morsel of her body.
Sheldon is in his mid thirties. We have been together for five years. I’ve heard all the stories… more than once.
Okay, I’ll admit. It started becoming less endearing and more annoying about, mmm, 4.5 years ago. Sometimes I just want to scream… HE’S NOT PERFECT! DO YOU KNOW HOW LOUD HE CHEWS HIS FOOD? DO YOU KNOW HE PICKS HIS TOENAILS IN BED???
But then I had Pavel and it kind of started to make sense. I’m scared. I can slowly see how this could totally unfold in our lives. Possibly, like so:
Pavel rolls over at seven weeks… oh how cute and totally advanced for his age. Next thing you know, I’m taking him to gymnastics at three months insisting he’s a sure shot for a red ribbon on the balance beam. He falls off the balance beam (that is actually just a line of tape on the floor and no injuries occur) and doesn’t cry - all the kids clap for him. I realize he has only been in the class for 35 minutes and all the kids love him, wow, he is just so popular - and good looking. I take him to have glamor shots done and send blown up copies to everyone we know.. after he autographs them of course. You run into me at the local Starbucks and I start telling you all about this adventure and how he’ll probably end up at the Olympics, or at least in GQ magazine..
This is how you become an insanely proud mother - you have a baby. That’s all it takes! The above story hasn’t actually taken place, but I actually daydream of the day something like this will happen. Oh great. The next thing you know, I’ll be casually dropping ‘shooteroos’ into my everyday storytelling conversations!
If I had to tell you the first happy thing that comes to mind when I think of my in-laws, it’s that they love us more than anything else. (Haha, see how I’ve convinced myself that I’m now included in this love bubble? It’s not just only children who become a little delusional.. )
Since nearly the day I met them, I have always known that they would make amazing grandparents.
I’ve heard the saying ‘You can pick your spouse, but you can’t pick your in-laws’. This sounds like a bad thing, but in my case, I’m not so sure it is. Yes, I get annoyed - but I get annoyed by their love. What is my problem anyway?
I can remember driving home from their house one day not too long ago and discussing our visit with Sheldon. He very truly stated, ‘Jenny, I’d be willing to bet that in 25 years, Pavel will be driving away from our house with his girlfriend having this exact conversation about you.’