Size Doesn't Matter, Unless You're Small
My oldest sister just called to ask for Shorty's size. "What's he wearing these days?" "I don't know," I replied. "Shorty, what size do you wear?" I asked from the loft. "13," he replied while laughing. I'd measured him not an hour before, noticing that my 11 & 2/3 year old son seemed taller than he was last night. He's now 5'6" & I'm all of 5'7".
"Not in shoes," I said to him as I made my way to his bedroom around the corner. "Why?" I asked my sister. "We're trying to find something for him," she replied.
Shorty and I are headed home tomorrow for Christmas and his presence is a last minute surprise gift for my dad. Originally Shorty was going to spend the holidays with his father in CA, but when my parents told me my father's brother had just arrived from Kenya this month for a visit, I knew it would be better for the two of us to change our plans and spend it with the family.
I made my way to his bedroom around the corner and picked up the pants his great aunt in CA sent a couple of days ago. "He's wearing size 18 pants," I said and scrunched up my nose & mouth at the sight and smell of my son's disasterous & smelly room. "And I guess he's wearing size 18/20 shirts," I said, eyeing the tag on the top she'd sent as well. "Ok," my sister said and quickly got off the phone without asking what size I wear now.
I'm glad my family has always made my son feel welcome in my family. Even though I rebelliously got pregnant for the wrong reasons at 19, capriciously & reluctantly eloped with his father 12 years ago (someone that if our family still arranged marriages, they would've never picked for me [think Kevin Federline with an Al-Queda streak]), & counter to family culture, divorced him and have been raising my son alone for the last 10 years...they love him in spite of my individuality.
Ever since my first Mother's Day (a month after my son was born) when I walked into my parents' family room and everyone gushed over my new blue-eyed baby, plucked him from my arms, and forgot that I existed, I knew that I was no longer the center of the universe. And since then, I haven't been a priority to my family when gift giving time comes along. Instead of buying things for me, they've bought things for my son that he needs, which I see (instead of crying, "What about me?!") as a gift for me.
My size stopped mattering when my waistline stopped being small. That was 12 years ago when I sat at the family table for Christmas dinner just a few days after I announced that I'd recently eloped with my fetus's daddy, and my oldest nephew (the then 7 year old child of my oldest sister) asked, "Where's the baby Aunt [insert my name here]'s supposed to have?", looking at me with my still seemingly small size. "It's not done yet," my sister replied. My waistline is still relatively small, but it doesn't matter when it comes to my family (I love you Shorty!). I wouldn't trade him or my family for anything in the world. Even as a single mom, because of them I know I'm loved, no matter how big or small I am.
"Not in shoes," I said to him as I made my way to his bedroom around the corner. "Why?" I asked my sister. "We're trying to find something for him," she replied.
Shorty and I are headed home tomorrow for Christmas and his presence is a last minute surprise gift for my dad. Originally Shorty was going to spend the holidays with his father in CA, but when my parents told me my father's brother had just arrived from Kenya this month for a visit, I knew it would be better for the two of us to change our plans and spend it with the family.
I made my way to his bedroom around the corner and picked up the pants his great aunt in CA sent a couple of days ago. "He's wearing size 18 pants," I said and scrunched up my nose & mouth at the sight and smell of my son's disasterous & smelly room. "And I guess he's wearing size 18/20 shirts," I said, eyeing the tag on the top she'd sent as well. "Ok," my sister said and quickly got off the phone without asking what size I wear now.
I'm glad my family has always made my son feel welcome in my family. Even though I rebelliously got pregnant for the wrong reasons at 19, capriciously & reluctantly eloped with his father 12 years ago (someone that if our family still arranged marriages, they would've never picked for me [think Kevin Federline with an Al-Queda streak]), & counter to family culture, divorced him and have been raising my son alone for the last 10 years...they love him in spite of my individuality.
Ever since my first Mother's Day (a month after my son was born) when I walked into my parents' family room and everyone gushed over my new blue-eyed baby, plucked him from my arms, and forgot that I existed, I knew that I was no longer the center of the universe. And since then, I haven't been a priority to my family when gift giving time comes along. Instead of buying things for me, they've bought things for my son that he needs, which I see (instead of crying, "What about me?!") as a gift for me.
My size stopped mattering when my waistline stopped being small. That was 12 years ago when I sat at the family table for Christmas dinner just a few days after I announced that I'd recently eloped with my fetus's daddy, and my oldest nephew (the then 7 year old child of my oldest sister) asked, "Where's the baby Aunt [insert my name here]'s supposed to have?", looking at me with my still seemingly small size. "It's not done yet," my sister replied. My waistline is still relatively small, but it doesn't matter when it comes to my family (I love you Shorty!). I wouldn't trade him or my family for anything in the world. Even as a single mom, because of them I know I'm loved, no matter how big or small I am.
posted by N'j at 12:49 PM
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