right in the middle of her forehead.
And when she was good,
she was very, very good.
But when she was bad,
she was HORRID.
That is the oldest lullaby I remember from childhood. My mom thinks she can’t sing, so I got nursery rhymes in lieu of lullabies.
I spent my childhood at the center of attention. I was the talk of the maternity ward. My mom couldn’t wait until she could go see the baby with the bright ginger peach fuzz. And the nurses brought me right to her.
I cried more than your average baby.
I was allergic to my formula and threw up every time Mommy fed me. I was 6 weeks old when I had my first earache. And after I was completely toilet trained, we moved. So I was a bedwetter before pull-ups.
Mommy bought a vase to catch my tears. (Psalms 56:8) That almost always worked to dry them right up before she fetched the vase.
My parents learned very early on that head injuries bleed more.
Back when children could play in the whole neighborhood, my older brother was usually tasked with looking after me. I’m not sure where he was when I pulled the car-top carrier onto me. Or when I tumbled into that brick basement air well. I know where he was (not playing with me) when I threw a marble at the window.
My first grade teacher called me a cat bird. Which boils down to wanting to be the center of attention.
I went from being the center of my parents’ attention, through a brief period at college with them very close by, to letting Matt take care of me for 38 years. I’ve never taken full responsibility for my own life.
So now I’m gathering up all my feck and enjoying the heck out of the challenge.
Freckles to feckless to future unknown. Life is a journey.