Generalissimo turns 30...er, 31? Oh Crap! 33!

Generalissimo just turned 33. Now, I just really don’t know how that could have happened. 1977 was just not that long ago. I’m sure good mothers would have all the baby photos just filed and ready to share on their blog, but all I can find around the house is a picture of a baby whom I can never remember which kid it is --

and this one of Generalissimo sucking his toe. I know he’s dressed in pink,

but I’m pretty sure it’s him.

 I could also find this -- more current --  pic of his Christmas Crack. It’s more current, but as he points out, “It looks like someone killed a squirrel and put it down the back of my pants.”

Good mothers would also probably “remember the day like it was yesterday.” Yeah, well, again either my motherhood badge is in jeopardy or my mind is shot. Maybe a little of both. Plus there are lots of childbirth stories out there and I doubt mine is memorable to anyone but me. It’s certainly a very crucial date to one other person, but I doubt it’s very memorable for him.

So what makes a memory lasting? How does our mind work, or rather how does my mind work? His birth was a huge event in my life -- so why isn’t every moment of the day firmly entrenched in my mind? Of course I remember a lot of the blessed event, but some things stand out with such clarity. For thirty-three years, my mind has held onto little vignettes, little moments in time -- keeping some in Kodak Living Color and letting others fade to a grainy black-and-white.



What interests me is banality of the events that are so firmly anchored in my memory. Things like this:

• Waking at 5 a.m., going to the bathroom, and wondering “Is that a mucous plug?”(Thank you, LaMaze for telling me what a mucous plug is.  Boy, has that come in handy over the years...well, actually only that one time.)
• Eating Mexican food for lunch (at a restaurant on Broadway in El Cajon).
• Deciding that showering and shaving my legs was mandatory before going to the hospital. (can you say "procrastinate"?)
• The doctor calling the house looking for me because he beat me to the hospital. (still procrastinating)
• Being terrified the doctor was going to give me an enema. I guess they did that kind of thing back then. ( reference: I laugh at fart jokes)
• My mother telling me that no matter how bad the pain got, “Ladies don’t make noise.” (Was she serious?)
• Being pissed because Larry’s dad was watching “Happy Days” and “Laverne and Shirley” while I was in labor.
• Puking up that lunch-time enchilada.
• Wondering what it would feel like when the baby came out (it felt like a big whoooosh)
• Wondering if I was going to experience a tremendous rush of maternal devotion the moment I saw the baby (mas o menos)
• Holding him for the first time, not quite sure what to do with him, but knowing he that it was mine, and that I really, really liked him.

And I still do. Happy Birthday, Larry. I love you!