I want a cake

So the boy turned 18 yesterday. He seems to not want a fuss, so it has been low key. And I was generally feeling a bit sad… all grown up… legal adult… I’m so old…

But then I thought, wait a minute. I did it! He has been in my care for the past 18 years, and he is still alive! Yeah! I know, right? I’m the one who should get a party!

18 years ago the hospital allowed me, for some godforsaken reason, to bring a tiny baby boy home with me. And I did NOT KILL HIM! That time he fell off the bed at two weeks old? Still alive. That time I tripped on the concrete steps while wearing the baby sling? I took all the damage to my own hand and knee, thank you very much. All those times when he was asleep? Never stopped breathing, not even once. When he was 14 and he and Isaac were out to the movies on their own, and were incommunicado and not back yet by 2am? Escorted safely home by the police. Both of them! All those times I had other people’s children placed in my care? Not a single one of those died either. Even Isaac.

I finished him! He now holds the deed in his own name. (A point brought to my attention when Walgreens emailed to tell me that I can no longer manage his prescriptions.)

Yay, me!


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