The bowling ball and the rite of passage

| January 18th, 2017


I never felt tempted to push something with bowling ball proportions out of my magnificent vagina. And when my friends pushed out child number two or three, I still didn’t feel tempted. I quite frankly thought they were mad. First the pushing and then three years worth of shitty-pants (per child, mind). No thanks! And then I got pregnant. Lo and behold. He came into this world on January 14, 2004 (no pushing, of course; I had arranged for a C-section) and changed everything I thought I knew. Where did time go? My boy became a teenager four days ago.





I see you blooming like a flower and flying like a bird in front of my eyes. Your happy face tells me, that I am not completely screwing up as your mother. But I take no credit for the noble, loving and considerate human being you’ve become. Happy sweet thirteen, my boy. You seem to grow up at maximum velocity (while I stay as young as I always was), but no matter how old you are, you will always be my baby, the breath of my lungs and the beat of my heart.

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